The Darkness in Waiting
by Iwillsingyoulullabys
Summary: Third story in the Darkness series. Probably best for you to read the first two to save confusion when reading this one. Hermione Granger is living in a post-war hell under the rule of Lord Voldemort, kept from her child and with suffering all around her, Hermione knows that she needs to fight back. But she can't do it by herself.
1. Come on, Captain

**Hello, this is the third story in my 'Darkness Series' . In the second one, Hermione dreamt of an alternate life, this is continuing with that alternate life. Hope you enjoy! xx**

* * *

In the beginning there was hope. And it was good. There was life everywhere. But he did not like it. It was not life that he could control it. For him it made little sense, so he chose a few and eliminated the rest; not even the innocent were spared. To control the small numbers he had left, strange hooded creatures were brought it that took your happiness and threw it into the darkness. There was so many of them they obscured the sun, so the plants died. It was a dark desolate wasteland now, and he saw that it was good.

* * *

The shriek slit through his throat like a knife. His body contorted with pain, his face twisted and bubbles of blood oozed out of his mouth and dribbled onto his shirt. Each finger had been slowly popped from its socket and the fingernails carefully removed. A gagging spell had him swallowing his own tongue so that he bit it when the pain became too much. From a hole in the side of his head poured more bloody making him woozy and tired. Still they did not give in.

'How did you get in here?' They screamed at him. 'How did you cross our borders?'

Numbly, he shook his head and then thrashed his legs as he was hit with the Cruciatus Curse.

'He won't be able to tell us anything with that gagging spell.' A voice uncertainly said from behind him. 'Let him speak.'

'He only speaks treason,' the torturer snapped. 'He can nod his head when he is ready to tell us, and if he only spews more hate then I will blow out his brains.'

A further curse was sent flying his way and he jolted with the shock of it. In all honesty, he was thankful for the gagging spell. He would not be revealing his secrets any time soon.

'The Dark Lord is still waiting.' A colder voice said. 'How hard can it be to break a young man.'

'This one's stubborn,' his torturer smacked him over the head. 'Proud.'

'Veritaserum?'

'We tried it. He seems to have taken some kind of antidote and even now his Occlumency is keeping us out of his mind.'

He sensed someone walking towards him, but due to the scratches in his eyes, he couldn't tell. Then he felt the sharp blade of a knife cut through the soft flesh of his diaphragm, he gave a hoarse exclamation of terror and the knife was pushed in further and twisted. His world went black.

The attacker stared in disgust, wiping the blade on his fine robes. 'Take him to the Dungeons and clean him up.' He ordered the torturer. 'The Dark Lord wants him alive.'

'Yes Mr. Malfoy.'

The Silent Healers, who could not pass judgement even if they wanted to, tended to the young man and soon had him upright again. All they knew was that the Dark Lord was very interested to know how he had got from France to Britain, despite the forcefield. This man had done was no one had done in years.

This man was George Weasley.

* * *

A war was going on in Britain, but the muggles were not sure who they were fighting. In the last five years, crops had dried up, the economy had found itself in tatters, and more and more muggles were deciding to spontaneously move. Britain was now little more than a wasteland, and Lord Voldemort liked it that way.

A forcefield was around the isles. Only those invited could come in, and any muggles with no knowledge of the Wizarding World could get out - never to consider returning. Soon, muggles forgot about Britain, and for the first time in centuries, the Wizarding population outweighed the muggle one. The muggles who remained lived in constant fear. They could not see the dementors that fed on their despair, but they knew full well that something dark and horrible was happening. They were all kept in the same enormous village, anyone who tried to leave would be killed instantly. For the most part they were left alone, but the threat of wizards coming in and taking some of them away always hung in the air. They did not know where those muggles went, they never saw them come back. Some were taken to be offered to the werewolves, giants, dementors and all the other dark creatures that had come out of hiding. Others were taken as slaves and traded - that was often the worst option. Although they were alive, it was never for very long; their conditions were brutal and they often fell ill, or if they disobeyed instructions or made a mistake, they would be offered to the Dark Art Schools who would practice the curses on them until they went mad and killed themselves.

Squibs were still ridiculed, but if you were lucky enough to be born into a noble or respected family you could be employed as a nanny or companion to another pureblood family. Squibs who were not so fortunate were given the nastier jobs, such as tidying up the dead.

Purebloods were at the highest, continuing to intermarry and doing anything they could to stay in favour - many coming up with fanatical evidence of themselves being related to other, more noble, families. However, while they were the highest, they also had the furthest to fall.

Halfbloods were not as privileged, and had to work harder, but they received far more respect that initially expected. They were encouraged to breed out their muggle descendants by mixing in with the poorer purebloods. In their careers they could never exceed a certain point, but they able to have a comfortable enough lifestyle and were generally left to themselves.

Traitors suffered death, but they could repent if their blood status was high enough, and there were some who had managed to work their way up into favour again, but Lord Voldemort was unpredictable with his acts of mercy. Families were torn apart by the loss of their children, brothers, sisters, parents, cousins - their pleading never helped.

Mudbloods lived a life of fear. They were not welcome within the wizarding community as it was believed that they could steal more magic, and they were not welcome in the muggle community in case they taught the muggles how to steal the magic and raised up a rebellion. Instead, mudbloods would be left to roam the dangerous forests, always hiding. And one was hidden away so carefully that although many looked for her, she could never be found. Her name was Hermione Granger.


	2. A girl who can't refuse

**Hello, me again! I'm glad that some of you enjoyed the last chapter, I hope that you enjoy this one too! I've basically planned everything out already, but it would be fabulous to get some reviews from you guys. **

**Love xx**

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She liked to watch the sun rise. It was beautiful. It was pure. Then she would return to her little bed with its white linen sheets, white silk blankets, white satin pillows and sleep.

The maids would come in a few hours later to wake her and to put her in a casual robe to receive the apprentice servers who would check her room for anything dangerous. They insisted that it was for her own safety, but it was only to protect themselves. Years ago, she had stored a small blade beneath her mattress, only for it to have been discovered. She was punished brutally for it and they took her new obedience as compliancy. But Hermione was just biding her time.

When they didn't find anything, they would give her a curt clipped nod and leave. The maids would then take her to be bathed. Years ago they would all sit in silence, but now the maids chatted amongst each other, and all the while Hermione listened for any piece of news that might help, anything that suggested something other than harmony in the outside world. Since she'd arrived at the Manor all those years ago, Hermione had never left and they very rarely had visitors, let alone ones who actually wanted to talk to her. She dreamed constantly of the outside world, always wondering who was left in it and how she could help them fight back.

Once dressed in her plain grey uniform, Hermione would be led to prayers. Lord Voldemort liked the idea of prayers. He wanted everyone to pray to him, for him. But she would quietly murmur the prayers of her childhood, the words that had, at the time, meant nothing but now meant everything. Holding onto her religion made her remember that there was no good or evil, there were only choices; choices that could manipulated into something else after time.

Then it was time to break their fast. Hermione did not know so much about the outside world's diet, but she knew that the purebloods in the Manor could eat whatever they wanted and the servants got the leftovers. Hermione was not afforded the luxury of choosing what she wanted to eat. She was strictly supervised over her meals to make sure that she was eating well. For breakfast, an egg, milk, orange juice and bread. If she did not eat it all up then she couldn't leave the table. It was humiliating.

A health exam came next, looking at her fitness and checking for signs of any injury or illness. She would swim, run, and do aerobics while notes were made. The Healers would then prod and poke her about how she felt, taking her temperature, her blood and her measurements. Consistency was key. Then came her least favourite part; The potion was the most disgusting thing she could ever imagine. The lumpy mush tasted like it was rotten. No matter how many gobletfuls, she was sure that she would never get used to the taste. When she eventually managed to swallow it (every last drop), she'd become drowsy and had to be taken to her room for a nap. She didn't understand how something that tasted like death was supposed to promote new life.

They let her sleep for a couple of hours, resting was important and it wasn't like Hermione had much to entertain herself with anyway. They'd waken her at lunchtime with a selection of vegetables with the another potion (luckily, not quite so disgusting as the first). Then came her favourite part of the day. She was allowed to go to the library. It was an enormous room, bigger than The Burrow and filled with more books than she'd ever seen in her life. She'd worked out that the only way to read so many books would be to live for thousands and thousands of years, because of that quite a lot of them seemed untouched - she'd been told that some were collectibles and not meant for reading, but that had never made any sense to her. The books were strictly regulated. Lord Voldemort had created a list of banned books and decreed that the forbidden ones should be burned. However, before he got to the Manor, Hermione had had the common sense to swap around the books and the book covers - the guards didn't bother checking properly. So now Hermione could read a 'History of Magic', with her supervisors believing that she was only reading 'My Struggle'.

Dinner would be a small amount of meat (usually chicken), potatoes and plenty of asparagus and other foods that were said to make a son. Oddly enough, the wizarding world did not have spells that could alter gender and instead had to rely on old superstitions.

Hermione would then spend some time with Narcissa, generally keeping quiet while Narcissa chatted to her about frivolous things like shoes and flower arrangements; it was only when the guards zoned out of their conversation was Narcissa able to lean forwards and whisper a rushed story of something happening in the outside world, usually concerning Lucius. For example, Hermione had learned that Lucius was appearing at the wizarding ambassador for Britain, going round to other magical countries and seeking their alliances. France had entertained the idea for a while, they had similar ideals but weren't prepared to follow Lord Voldemort. Germany had been vehemently against the idea, the sanctuary for the witches and wizards who'd managed to get out in time, and had chased Lucius away from the borders. Spain was conflicted. Italy was horrified by the idea. Russia had offered friendship, but Lord Voldemort knew full well that the Russians had their own agenda and couldn't fully be trusted.

Magic was not the same all over the world, it differed from continent to continent. Europe was Fire magic, Asia was Wind magic, the Americas was Earth magic, Antarctica was water magic, Africa's magic was focused on the mind and Australia's magic focused on the body.

The witches and wizards in Asia who used magic crystals to change the weather were very interested in what Voldemort had to say and were a powerful ally. Africa had not yet been approached, their power simply came from looking at you and all of a sudden you were hypnotised. While possibly the most powerful ally to have, Voldemort recognised that the African magic was unpredictable and might not work in his favour. The witches and wizards in the Americas had been notoriously difficult to track down. They were Native Americans and lived as if the settlers had never arrived. They seldom spoke, and when they did it was only in riddles. Due to their respect for the Earth, the Earth was its ally and would do all it could to protect them; their power over nature was appealing, but they'd stayed silent while Lucius had spoken to them, and when the Death Eaters had returned to speak to them again the next day, they were gone. Lord Voldemort had little time for the magic in Australia. He didn't appreciate it, believing that the mind was a far more powerful thing than the body - but he was mistaken. If you allowed a witch or wizard to touch your flesh, even just for a second, your body belonged to them and they could do with it what they wanted. If they wanted you injured, it was done. If they wanted you ill, it was done. If they wanted you strong and athletic, it was done. If they wanted you dead, it was done. The last one, Antarctica, used magic that was highly unpredictable and often cruel. Obviously, they'd been the first choice of an ally, but the Death Eaters had been chased away. The witches and wizards in Antarctica didn't understand their magic and were frightened by the power of it. Their fear turned into bitterness and hate, and soon it became a powerful weapon.

However, other than what Lucius had been up to, Hermione's knowledge of the outside world was deliberately kept to a minimum. It was no surprise. She was the last in Britain who had a genuine claim to being Harry Potter's confidant. She was a symbol to the outside world and needed to be looked after as such.

Hermione had also born Lord Voldemort's first child. It did not matter that their daughter did not come from love. He insisted that love was only a weakness and that any child born from it would also be weak. Had he not destroyed Harry Potter? The boy who was loved? No, lust for her was enough, and the lust for the ancient magic running in her veins.

To the high born purebloods, Hermione was seen as an insolent whore, and yet the Manor was often crowded with people who wanted to catch a glimpse of this strange girl. Whenever they had visitors, Hermione was stuffed into a robe of light blue threaded with gold and put next to Narcissa. From all the potions that she took, Hermione practically glowed with health and vitality which made the women very jealous. They whispered amongst each other that more potions were slipped into her food to make her more calm and demure. Some had sworn that they had seen her on days where it had not been put in, and she'd gone into a violent rage and was quickly whisked away, but no one could be certain.

Narcissa was entertaining some witches today, although privately Hermione called them hags. These women came from great noble families, like Narcissa, and stared at her with a mixture of disgust and loathing. It was well known that these families had been pushing their wives and daughters towards Voldemort with the hope of gaining favour, but so far it appeared that he had not been particularly interested.

'Cegar will of course be taking that position.' Claudine Sandhurst said rather pompously, breaking Hermione's line of thought. She stroked the extravagant furs around her shoulders in the sweltering heat of July. 'He will be sublime. I have every confidence in him - as does the Minister.'

The other witches nodded in agreement.

'Well, I have news too.' Delilah Greengrass cut in before Claudine could utter another word. 'I have now managed to secure a marriage for all of my girls. Petra is to go to Lestrange, Violet to Sordirnphn and Mylanya to Dolohov.'

Everyone murmured their congratulations, other than one young witch (whom Hermione did not know) who exclaimed. 'But they are so young! I could not bear for my children to go at that age!'

'It has to be done.' The women nodded wisely with Delilah. 'I will look forward to having time with my grandbabies. Grandsons, praise be.'

'Praise be,' came the automatic reply and they all took a sip of drink.

'So, did you hear the latest news?' Madame Marchgoyle asked. 'My husband has been working late every night this week. That wretched boy just won't say how he did it.'

Hermione's ears perked up. This could be interesting. She held her breath, not wanting anything to remind them all that she was there.

'Will he ever?' Claudine interrupted, shaking her head disapprovingly. 'He is loyal to the other side. He was born into it. I doubt that he could ever be swayed.'

'Well if the boy can't be swayed as you say, then my husband isn't doing his job properly.' Mrs. Mulciber said grimly from the corner. 'The boy will crack. With Callidus doing the questioning and my husbands talents, it won't take long. We have to find out. Our lives have been put jeopardy.'

'That's enough.' A commanding drawl came from the doorway.

Hermione turned, startled, to find Lucius Malfoy staring coldly at the witches. He was the only person she knew who'd managed to age well - particularly in these times, the lines around his eyes made him look all the more distinguished and the silver in his hair only made him come across as more ethereal than before. Yet age had made him look deadly, the disappointment of losing his only son more so.

Lucius fixed his steely glare onto Hermione and his wife, both worried that they had been caught. 'Hermione, come with me. You too, Narcissa.'

Obediently they both rose and went to him in silence. He walked Hermione to her room and saw her shut safely inside before he turned to his wife and hissed, 'you have got to be more careful!'

'I'm sorry.' She said, placing an hand on his arm, trying to calm him. 'I didn't think. I'm sorry, husband.'

'She's more dangerous than she looks. Although it seems like we are playing nursemaid for her, we are first and foremost her guards. She's still too strong at the moment. Visitors remark that she is too active, that she knows too much. We can't give him a reason to doubt us, or the girl.'

Lucius saw something flicker in his wife's face. He knew full well that Narcissa liked Hermione knowing too much, it gave her a small sense of rebellion as if that could possibly avenge the murder of their son; it was the most discreet way of saying 'up yours' to Voldemort.

'You know that what I say makes sense.' Lucius said softly, stroking a tendril of hair from Narcissa's face. 'I'm just trying to protect you. Protect us all. We need her to fade away.'

'You think he will forget her? Like my sister?'

'No. It's strange. He seems in awe of her, he won't allow anyone to call her mudblood. Yet, every time he starts to give an explanation as to why he views her as such a powerful witch, he drops off. I think he wants us to ask.'

'Then why don't you?'

'You should know by now to never question Voldemort. He puts you in that situation so that he can pretend that you have just challenged his authority. Best to just agree and be gormless in his presence. The last man who fell into that trap died in my arms. I have no urge to be in that place myself.'

* * *

It was times like this that she wished she had a pensieve. Even if she'd been allowed a notebook that would have been good enough, but anything she wrote down was checked. No, she just had to store things in her brain and save them for later. Hermione sat down on her bed and tried to recall every piece of information she could. There were no firm allies for Voldemort's wizarding Britain - Albania was the only one he could claim, and she'd heard that it had been through blackmail that they'd agreed to support him. Voldemort had four houses: The Moor, The Glen, The Valley and (his favourite residence) The Fen. Each house was unplottable, and required an invitation in order to find it. She'd heard that you could be standing right in front of it, but if you had not been invited then you would not be able to see it. These houses were also heavily guarded with dementors, which meant that no one stayed in Voldemort's company for very long.

Was her daughter there with him? No one had offered the information and she hadn't overheard it either. When Rose had been taken she quizzed everyone she ever came across as to her daughter's whereabouts, until Narcissa pointed out that she was playing right into Voldemort's hands. He wanted her to fight, to show herself off as a Gryffindor. For now she needed the subtlety of a Slytherin - something that she wasn't accustomed to.

A loud crash disturbed her thoughts. Startled, Hermione ran to the window to look out in the courtyard below.

Hundreds of witches and wizards were climbing over the enormous gate that led to the courtyard of the Manor. They were all thin and dirty, reminding Hermione of werewolves in the old days, but now the werewolves were plump and clean thanks to Greyback, these people were rebels.

In all honesty she was surprised that there were still rebels out there - let alone a massive crowd like this. There hadn't been any rebel attacks in years, she assumed that it was because they were all dead. However, from the look of them, they may as well be.

A hand grabbed onto Hermione's shoulder and roughly pulled her away from the window.

'To the dungeons, quickly.' He snarled.

Hermione didn't bother arguing. Not only was he much stronger than her, he also had a wand. She let herself be tugged down the winding staircase going further down into the darkness, further away from the roars of the rebels and finally pushed into the dungeon.

Narcissa quickly embraced her.

'Did you recognise anyone?' She muttered.

'No.' Hermione whispered, before being pulled away again.

The ladies of the Manor were all huddled together in fear. Even eleven year old Barnaby had been sent upstairs to fight. That was Voldemort's rule: If you were old enough to have a wand, then you were old enough to fight. Interestingly, that rule did not apply for women. He seemed to dislike having them on the battlefield, which was odd seeing as Bellatrix was clearly his best fighter. Lucius had once told her that he thought they got in the way and were more prone to hysterics. Looking over at the wailing Claudine Sandhurst, Hermione was tempted to agree.

From high above there was a further crash, the sound of stomping feet and another roar of anger. The rebels had managed to get into the Manor.

Hermione felt giddy with excitement for the first time in years. Rebels had not managed to get into the Manor in years. They were usually all killed in the courtyard. She wanted to scream out to them, until she felt a wand point at the small of her back.

'Not a sound.' Her captor whispered in her ear.

Angrily Hermione shoved him away. 'Fuck off.' She snarled. 'You stay away from me.'

For a moment he looked hurt, his dark eyes searching hers, looking for some comfort from the past. But then he pointed his wand at her temple.

'Any sound and I vill put you to sleep, and believe me, the Dark Lord vill not take kindly to your disobedience.'

Voldemort doesn't take kindly to anything I do, Hermione thought. Calling out won't make much of a difference.

When he came towards her again, she screamed and wiggled out of his strong grasp.

'Get away! Fuck off!'

The ladies looked on in horror as Hermione scratched him across the face. While he staggered back, Hermione looked at her bloody fingernails. Nice work.

Another guard grabbed her from behind. Shrieking, she thrashed her legs about. 'I'm down here!' She cried. 'I'm down here! Please! Come to the dungeons! I'm down here!'

Another guard went to grab her legs, but she kicked him in the face, knocking him out cold. It wasn't until a curse was sent flying her way did she fall to the ground. While she was on her knees, they tied her arms behind her back and another put his wand to her temple.

'repente somno'

Instantly she felt drowsy. Her world was becoming a blurr. Hermione tried to fight the need to sleep, but she was growing weaker and weaker. Just as she was about to fall, she caught the eye of the guard she'd just attacked.

'I hate you.' She whispered. 'I hate you, Krum.'

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**Tada! So that was the second chapter, I hope you enjoyed it. xx**


	3. They never see the hate in your head

**Thank you to my reviewers Maddevillechild and StayCloseToMeForAlways - this chapter is for you. Sorry it has taken so long!**

Hermione had to walk past the dead on her way back to her rooms. Half of her wanted to search for familiar faces, while the other half reasoned that sometimes it was better not knowing.

Voldemort insisted that bodies of the dead be left where they were until nightfall, then they would be thrown out for all the dark creatures to devour. Fenir had encouraged many werewolves to try and remain as wolf like as possible, insisting that eating human flesh makes you stronger. The next morning, scavengers - some even children, would rush around the woods looking for the clothes and trinkets left behind that they could sell. No, Hermione didn't want to know if any of her old friends would have that fate.

Krum had kept a tight hold of her arm as he marched her down the hall. Initially she'd tried to squirm out of his grasp, but he was much bigger and in the end she gave up. When the got to her room, he shoved her inside and immediately closed the door.

Last year when Hermione had first caught a glimpse of him in the courtyard, she immediately assumed that he'd been taken prisoner. However, as she got closer she could see the fine cut of his robes and the richness of fabric that had been used, and of course, the obvious sign, Krum was wearing black - a colour reserved only for Voldemort's favourites. She'd later found out that his hatred for Grindelwald had only been a cover to protect him from persecution in his country. When he travelled to England and began to hear whispers of Voldemort he was enthralled and went to Karkaroff to hear stories of this lord's majestic powers. However Krum had continued to insist that he had held a deep affection for Hermione until she got him to confess that amongst Karkaroff's stories, her name had been whispered as a legend. He wouldn't tell her any more than that.

It was strange. Krum was not the first to have hinted that there was something particular about Hermione that Voldemort had been after. One of her attendants, had seen the scar on her chest left by Dolohov in her fifth year and made a remark about how, had it worked, it was supposed to have transported her straight to Voldemort. Obviously, this took Hermione by alarm. Why bother? She'd wanted to ask more questions but had been hurried away, and the next time she saw her attendant - it was just her head on a spike. On another day, one of Lucius' guests had mentioned the power of her blood in her hearing. He met the same fate as Hermione's old attendant. From then on people kept quiet around her, clearly whatever it was was important. When Hermione had quizzed Lucius about it, he'd waved her away and said he valued his head too much to lose it over revealing the Dark Lord's ramblings.

It was times like this when Hermione longed for her mother. Growing up, Hermione had felt that her mother could solve any riddle, yet she doubted that her mother could provide answers relating to magic.

A stern knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. Lucius. He was one of the few people to ever knock.

'Come in,' she called out, not bothering to get up. She rarely used formalities when talking with the Malfoy's.

When he came in, Hermione could tell that there was something very wrong. He'd abandoned his casual robes and put on his finery - even though she knew that the material made him itch. His hair was loose around his shoulders and neatly combed, he'd just shaved and he looked like he'd just been forced to swallow something very bitter. He thrust a parcel at her.

'Put this on.'

'Why?'

'Just do it.'

Lucius couldn't meet her eyes.

'He's coming today. Isn't he?'

Lucius remained silent.

'Isn't he?'

Eventually Lucius nodded. 'He wants to see you in that. Don't defy him on this. I'm hoping this is just a quick visit. He has business in the East to take care of, but they say he's going to The Moor. Just put this on, smile and look pretty. He'll get bored of your obedience and go away.'

Hermione nodded grimly and waved him away. As soon as Lucius closed the door behind him, she let out a strangled cry of panic. She hated this monster. 6 years of seeing him and having a child with him did not make it any easier. Whenever Hermione saw him she saw all those that he'd killed or had been killed on his orders. It was seeing Ron that hurt the most.

She opened the parcel. Inside were the grandest set of robes she'd ever seen. Made from a soft baldaquin fabric with gold laced throughout it, the gown had a rich brocade on the corset, a design so intricate that looking at it gave her a headache. The sleeves were gauze and rippled down like a waterfall, they looked so delicate she was almost afraid to touch it. Her underskirt was hidden by the gown, which was a shame as it was a beautiful cloth of gold. The rest of her clothing was blood red. Tiny rubies had been intricately sewn onto the main fabric of the dress, catching the light. They looked like tears of blood.

Terrified, Hermione threw the dress across the room. Only traitors awaiting their death wore red, and this colour had been matched perfectly to the colour of blood. Hermione did not fear death, she often thought about welcoming it, but she feared for her daughter.

Why after all this time? It was true, Rose was nearing six and still had no brothers, but she scarcely saw Voldemort let alone fucked him. She hadn't done anything wrong, that she knew of anyway. Had he grown tired of her? Was he going to trade her in for a younger model? Her stomach flipped when she thought that it could be Rose one day.

Hermione looked at the robe again. It was so intricate, so expensive, would he have wasted that on a mudblood about to die? Probably, but she held onto the belief that this was not the case. He probably had meant to scare her. It was a lesson, for some reason or the other. Hermione decided that she would put on the dress and meet him with her head held high.

Narcissa came later to do her hair. There wasn't much to do. Voldemort loved her curly hair loose around her shoulders. As a pureblood on the other hand, Narcissa had had to scrape hers up into a painful bun, but Hermione knew that wasn't the reason that Narcissa looked like she was in pain.

'You be good for him.' She kept on saying. 'Keep your eyes open and your mouth shut. You're a clever girl, you can do that can't you?'

Hermione nodded but she made no promises.

'He might only see you briefly.' Narcissa garbled on. 'Lucius says that he has a lot of business to be getting on with. This is probably just a flying visit to see how you are. We'll say you're a good girl and that your obedient and he'll be pleased. You smile and simper and say as little as you can to him. Only speak when spoken to. If he does something, no matter how vile, keep your mouth shut and act like it never happened. If he's fishing for compliments, tell him how he resembles Salazar Slytherin - that never fails to work. Don't talk to the other Death Eaters unless commanded to. They won't antagonise you with him there, of if they do they won't be doing it for very long.'

'Yes. He much prefers antagonising me himself.' Hermione interrupted dryly.

Narcissa gave a disapproving 'hmph'. 'I know you don't like it, But we all have to put up with it.'

'Do you remember when Rose was about two and she went through that phrase of refusing to do anything she was told.' Hermione said thoughtfully. 'And when it started with the little things, I just laughed but then you told me that letting her get away with it would lead to a spoilt child?'

'Yes?' Narcissa sounded confused.

'Voldemort is a spoilt child.' Hermione announced. 'He should learn to grow up.'

'As a child he grew up too soon. That's why he's now the way he is. Now that he is in control, he is having the childhood he missed out on.'

'Don't try and make me feel sorry for him.' Hermione snarled. 'He's the reason why Harry had to grow up too soon. The reason why Rose and thousands of other children are having to grow up too soon.'

Narcissa held up her hands in defence. 'I apologise.' She said soothingly. 'I did not mean for you to feel sorry for him. I just meant for you to understand. Remember, understanding the enemies weakness is what makes them fall.'

* * *

On the way to his rooms, Hermione had to be paraded past the dozens of followers who had followed him to Malfoy Manor. Some looked at her with that same doe eyed expression she thought they'd reserved just for Voldemort, others looked at her with hatred - seeing her as a jumped up mudblood. Years ago, Hermione was always very conscious about how people looked at her. Now she couldn't care less.

Some of the followers were new, she saw. To make it clear that they were in training for receiving the Dark Mark - the men wore dark grey with the green that marked them as purebloods. Bellatrix Lestrange still remained the only female Death Eater.

With a sink in her stomach, Hermione realised that she recognised a handful of these new trainees. There was a Ravenclaw three years below her. A Slytherin who Ginny had had a crush on. But the one that served the biggest shock was Ernie MacMillan.

He didn't look at all embarrassed to see her. Instead, his face cracked into a big wide grin.

'Hermione, my lady.' He said cheerfully. 'You look well.'

It was with great restraint that she did not smack him.

'We have lots to catch up on.' Ernie continued, unabashed by Hermione's stony silence. 'I hope to be seeing you soon.'

She was marched off before she could reply.

Ernie MacMillan?

Ernie MacMillan?

Hermione didn't think he had it in him. He was all for the big grand show of fighting, but when it actually came to it - he'd always been pretty useless. Death Eaters had to be seriously disciplined, and she couldn't see Ernie being that way. Well, she couldn't see Ernie growing into a cruel man either but evidently he had.


	4. Making love to one already dead

**Pre-warning - violence and** **assault in this chapter.**

* * *

Thankfully Hermione was spared any grand ceremony of having to see him again, but it still didn't ease the churning in her stomach. Although the grand show meant she was on display, its advantage was that there were other things to distract him. The tap on the door came later than expected, but it still startled her.

Lucius looked her up and down and gave a grim nod. 'Hold your tongue,' was all he said to her.

Hermione was led through the corridor leading down to the main staircase, but where she would usually take a right turning, Lucius steered her round to the left and pushed her up another winding staircase. She'd never been in this part of the manor before, which only added to her nerves.

When they got to the stop of the staircase, Lucius gave her elbow a tight squeeze, which she guessed was supposed to be some kind of nice gesture, and left abruptly.

Without him there it was tempting to turn around and go back downstairs. But she was a Gryffindor. She was brave. She needed answers.

She couldn't suppress the gasp of astonishment when she opened the door. The entire room was made of crystal. It was so beautiful, but so fragile at the same time. She felt like if there was any added weight the room would break. But it was clearly stronger than it looked for in the middle and pacing was Lord Voldemort.

He'd aged since she last saw him. It made him seem more fragile, but Hermione knew full well that an injured dog was by far more vicious than a healthy one.

His thin lips curved into a smile when he saw her. 'I should dress you in red more often.' He said softly. 'It suits you beautifully.'

'I want to see my daughter.'

'Our daughter is well cared for.'

'Where is she?'

'I can't let you know that.'

Hermione cursed angrily. It made Voldemort smile even more. 'My my, mothering cats do get angry.'

'My child belongs with me.' She argued. 'I'm a good mother. She'll miss me. She needs me.'

Voldemort shrugged. 'It's only temporary. Until I get what I want.'

She knew better than to ask him what. She didn't want to appear desperate.

'I will do anything for my daughter.'

Her answer seemed to delight him. Voldemort moved across the room to where she stood, stopping just inches before her face. 'I know. That's why I've taken her. And the task in hand isn't even that hard.' A cold hand stroked a flushed cheek. 'Just open your legs, and get me a son.'

'I don't decide whether it's a boy or a girl.' Hermione snarled. 'You're medieval.'

'Perhaps. But I need a son. Our daughter has powerful blood, it is true - but she is only a girl. Our son will be much more powerful.'

'I don't want a son with you.'

'But I want one with you.' He moved his hand down her neck and to her shoulders where he began to toy with the strap of her gown. 'A powerful boy with powerful blood. A boy whose powers I can take for my own.'

Hermione jerked away from him, but he caught her by the waist and pulled her back in.

'There's a potion.' She said desperately. 'I can conceive our son without you. All the potion needs is some of your DNA.'

His other hand was rubbing gently against her thigh. Hermione shuddered. Voldemort leaned into her ear and whispered. 'But I don't want to miss out on all the fun.'

Then he struck suddenly and bit down hard on her neck. Hermione screamed in pain and hit him furiously, but he managed to grab ahold of her wrists.

When she'd been marked, Voldemort dragged her down to the floor by her hair and kicked her in the ribcage until she stopped trying to get back up. He then reached into the pocket of his robes and brought out a long thin silver dagger which he used to tear up her gown; Hermione thrashed out all this while but it got her nothing other than some cuts on her legs. When he got to her underwear she began to cry in frustration and continued to beat against him as best she could, but the weight of a grown man on a young girl was too much for her to fight against.

His fingers jerked their way up inside her and she screamed out in pain. With the other hand Voldemort grabbed her by the hair and forced her lips to his. But he never kissed her. He bit down hard on her mouth until she could taste blood.

When he pulled away he began whispering in her ear. Terrible things that she tried to block out. He was overcome with lust and he wanted her to be as well. When at last he moved his fingers, Hermione thought for a sudden moment that the torment was over - that he'd realised her body wasn't ready for it. But then he slammed into her at full force and she gave a howl of pain.

Voldemort held up his dagger to her throat as he thrust against her. 'Come on, bitch.' She heard him whisper. 'Get wet for your Lord.'


	5. Come closer you

**More violence and assault. Sorry.**

* * *

A few weeks later, Hermione woke to find blood on the sheets. Part of her felt relieved. But a bigger part reminded her that she would just have to go through it again. When Voldemort summoned her the following morning, she knew that he'd be angry with her for not conceiving and dreaded his next move.

However, that didn't come into conversation.

'I've always heard that you're a talented witch.' Voldemort said. 'Now prove it.'

He threw her a wand.

Hermione hadn't held a wand in years. It almost burned to touch as she remembered everything she could do.

Voldemort smirked at her. 'The wand has been altered so that it cannot hurt me. Give it a try. The Cruciatus Curse.'

Hermione didn't need to be persuaded.

But all of the white hot anger she felt at him came surging towards her and knocked her off of her feet.

Smug, Voldemort stepped over her. 'Lesson 1. Don't doubt me.'

He held out a hand for her to get up, but she struggled up by herself. 'What do you want?' She spat.

'I've told you. I've heard tales of what a talented witch you are. I've seen some of it. Some of your talents have even thwarted my plans. I want to test you to see just how powerful you are.'

'More so than you'd like.'

He laughed. 'The more powerful the better, my dear. But I know that you'll never be as good as me. It's your blood that makes you extraordinary - nothing more.'

'I'm a mudblood.' She snapped. 'Why do you keep on going on about how powerful my blood is? I've researched my family tree back generations - there is no magic in it.'

He shot her a look that made it perfectly clear that she was not to ask any more questions.

For the rest of the day he set her small basic tasks to perform. Levitating pillows and sending them from one end of the room down to the other. Each one she did easily, but got no praise. Hermione had expected to - these were things she could do as a first year.

When he set down a goblet full of water in front of her and commanded her to turn it into wine, she flinched.

It was an old wizard superstition. Turning water into wine meant death by burning. Hundreds of years ago, it was true, but even in these times it was still an uncomfortable spell.

Her reluctance clearly amused him.

'You look like I've just suggested a black mass.'

Hermione scowled and cast the spell. The water quickly changed into a sparkling white wine.

Voldemort pursed his lips and set another task.

By the time they were finished that evening, Hermione was exhausted and fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

* * *

The next day Narcissa woke her with a new set of clothes. There was a deep violet corset embroidered with black thread into words she could not understand and a deep blue robe that tied together at the waist but from thigh down left her exposed.

'What's this for?'

'They're your new training clothes.' She was told. 'He expects you in them and in the training room at 8 o'clock every morning until he decides otherwise.'

'And if I don't want to go?'

Narcissa shot her a withering look. 'Don't be smart. You have ten minutes.'

The Malfoy's had been on edge ever since Voldemort and the rest of his followers arrived. They were used to spending time with him, but they disliked his presence in their home. The Manor had always been their sanctuary to be away from him, but now he paraded around as if he owned it.

As usual, Voldemort was in his black robes and the cracked silver locket that had once been Salazar Slytherin's. Seeing it made her think of Ron, but in a good way. It made her remember that Voldemort could still be hurt.

'I've seen you use defensive magic.' Voldemort said before she could open her mouth. 'And yesterday I saw your basic magic. Today, I want to see your Dark magic.'

Hermione tried not to flinch. Instead she narrowed her eyes. 'No.'

'You will obey me.'

'Dark magic is everything I have ever fought against.'

Voldemort laughed. 'Well it's time for you to stop fighting, girl. There is only you. The more you comply, the more likely I am to let you see our daughter.'

That did it. He'd known full well that she would do anything for Rose. Hermione nodded.

'Good. The wand you have cannot harm me, so I've brought along another to help.'

That was when Krum stepped into view.

She couldn't help herself. She grinned. This was going to be fun.

'You will perform the curses on him. All except the killing curse, which does not work inside these walls. If you command him to hurt me under the Imperius curse, it will rebound and it will hurt you instead. In essence, Miss Granger - don't try and hurt me.

The first curse we will be looking at is the Cruciatus curse. I've seen you perform it already to a reasonable standard so I have every confidence in you. Krum, step forward so the lady can see you better.'

Krum didn't even have a wand, she noted. However, he didn't show the slightest hint of fear. Annoying, he just looked bored.'

Hermione raised the wand. 'Crucio.'

The curse took him by surprise and he jolted in pain. But no noise escaped from him, he just knotted his face up in concentration until the curse had passed.

'Bravo, Miss Granger. That was very good. However, you will not be able to get any better if you continue to cast the curse so nobly.'

'Nobly?' She spat, turning to face him. 'How is this curse noble?'

'When you cast it you think of all those he has hurt. You see it as his punishment, not even as revenge. Miss Granger, you are being too just.'

'I see no problem with that.'

'It will be a problem if you want to see our daughter.'

When she didn't say anything, he smiled. 'Continue.'

It wasn't until the tenth time she did the curse did Voldemort note an improvement. 'Now you're thinking of revenge! It is still not enough, mind. The curse works at its best if you do it purely because you want to see the person in pain - not for any other reason than to see them suffer.'

When Hermione hesitated he chuckled. 'Come now, you can play that innocence routine all you like with me, but I've seen your soul. You may think that you don't want to see people suffer purely for the hell of it, but believe me there is that part of you that is screaming out for this joy. Give in to it.'

Pain, she thought, suffering. I want to see Krum suffer. I want to hurt him just because.

They spent the rest of the day on that curse. By the end of it, Krum was unconscious. Yet that was still not enough.

* * *

The following day Krum was upright again as if nothing untoward had happened.

Voldemort threw the wand at her and told her to carry on where they'd left off.

Hermione had spent all night thinking about it. She'd desperately tried to ignore that niggling little voice in her head, but eventually she'd given in. Hermione thought of all the pain she'd been put through. Not just by Krum, like how he'd held her against a tree at the Yule Ball and groped her even though she'd begged him to stop. Hermione had thought of all the pain. Draco doing an impression of her. Snape deducting house points even though she'd done nothing wrong. The article Rita Skeeter her parents memories. Fights with Ron. Fights with Harry. Them dying. Voldemort pinning her down and raping her. Giving birth by herself because the women were loathe to touch her. Having Rose taken away. All of it churned her heart into hatred and she began to wonder what pain looked like. Hermione had been through so much pain, she wanted to see what all the fuss was about. She wanted to feel the surge of power that she'd supposed the others had felt when they hurt her. As Krum stood in front of her, passive and bored - Hermione focused her energy on all that hatred and cursed him.

Krum was blown backwards a couple of feet and smashed into the stone wall behind him. Hermione didn't stop there, she continued with the curse and watched in fascination as he screamed in agony, writhing on the floor. As the curse continued, Hermione realised that she could direct the pain how she wanted it to. She could cause the curse to crush his windpipe until his eyes rolled back into his head. She could stab him so blood came spurting out of his chest in various slashes and the most satisfying part was pushing his eyes into the back of his skull and squeezing it as easily as clay.

'You're killing him, Miss Granger.'

It was Voldemort who spoke, but he'd said it in Harry's voice.

Immediately, Hermione stopped and horrified she dropped the wand.

Krum still lay on the floor fitting and coughing up blood.

Voldemort walked towards him and nudged him lazily with his foot. Almost instantly, Krum was unconscious and the wounds stopped bleeding. He didn't even look at her.

'You can go now.'

* * *

Back in her bedchamber Hermione couldn't believe what she'd done. She'd been so cruel and yet she couldn't ignore the overwhelming sense of power she'd felt when Krum was being cursed. It was an awful thing. But it had felt so wonderful.

No. Hermione thought to herself. You mustn't think that it. It wasn't wonderful. It was cruel. Don't let yourself turn into him.

Why had Voldemort stopped her? He said he was curious about her dark magic, killing someone was about as dark as you could go. And why had he said it in Harry's voice?

Because he knew you wouldn't listen to him otherwise, the little voice said.

* * *

The next morning Hermione couldn't bear to get out of bed. She was terrified of going to another lesson. Terrified of the monster she might become if this continued.

But a message arrived from Voldemort saying that if Hermione didn't make her presence known in the training room within the next five minutes, he would be coming to get her himself. Hurriedly she got dressed and ran down there.

Krum was absent today and for a time Hermione was terrified that she had actually killed him.

'He is being cared for by a Team of Healers.' Voldemort announced from his throne. 'The boy will not die. I stopped you just in time.'

'Why?'

'Why did I stop you? I thought you did not want to become a killer?'

'And the real reason?'

'I have no wish for you to become one either. I adore your innocence too much. Now, come sit here.'

He gestured by his feet. It was a slight, but Hermione was still glad that it wasn't his lap.

'What do you know of resurrection spells?'

Hermione frowned. 'They're illegal. They burned all the books thousands of years ago.'

'They used to be illegal.' Voldemort corrected. 'But I have an interest in them again - only for certain people, you understand. And although the books may have been burned thousands of years ago - the knowledge still remains. Why else do you suppose Godric Gryffindor burned the bodies of those he killed?'

Hermione had never really considered it. 'Only a phoenix can rise from the ashes.'

'Beautifully put, my dear. Beautifully put. But he was the only one of the founders to take such precautions. One of the only wizards to ever take such precautions - not even the likes of Merlin or Väinämöinen considered it.'

'Have you?'

'I don't like burning. It's what filth do to their betters. Besides, I've never had any concerns that any enemy of mine might try and do something as taboo as raise the dead.'

'Some people may surprise you.'

'And yet no one has.'

He had a point there. Hermione tried to imagine herself doing the spells. But dark magic always had a darker cost, that often did not like to make itself known for quite some time.

'Before horcruxes there were a selection of spells and potions to choose from. If you wanted to save someone who was dying, one of their parents needed to sacrifice some of their years for the child. But the parent who did the sacrificing would not necessarily be the one who had the years taken from them. That was always random. The parent would slit their child's wrist and their own, they would then hold their wrists together to stop the flow of blood and say "_Salvum fac filium meum"_

The same could be done with the roles reversed and different incantation. But the child would die instantly and their parent would live a cursed life for the rest of their days.'

'Is that why you want a son?' Hermione interrupted.

He scowled at her. 'I have no interest in living a cursed life.' He snapped. 'The magic I require for when you give me a son and he is a grown man is much more difficult than that.'

'Well, what-'

'You will find out closer to the time. Of course you already know about the resurrection stone. It brings back those from the other side.'

'But they don't come back to life. They're just shadows of their former selves.'

'Correct. You think Death would have been so stupid to hand over something that could ruin him? It brings those back from the dead, but it does not bring them back to life. The stone is a lie. Flammel based his Philosopher's stone on it - but it only works on those who are still alive.'

'And Flammel destroyed the stone.'

'That he did. Dumbledore could never bear to see people live longer than what he allowed.' He spat angrily. 'It was during my searching of the properties for the Philosopher's stone that I discovered this.'

From his pocket, Voldemort withdrew a small parcel wrapped in green velvet. When he passed it to her she could see the excitement on his face. Frowning, she unwrapped it and found a slim red leather book with a golden lion encrusted on the front. Hermione looked at him in surprise.

'This was-?'

'Godric Gryffindor's, yes. The fool. He found out all he could about resurrection as well. He was morbidly fascinated with it - oh yes, I knew that would shock you, and not for noble reasons either. He wrote down all he knew and placed a curse on this book - you're fine.' Voldemort added when she looked startled. 'If you had received the curse you would have burst into flames by now.'

Suspiciously, Hermione opened the book. On it's faded pages, the ink still shone as brightly as if it were yesterday - but it was a language she did not recognise.

'It looks like a version of Ancient Runes.'

'Well done. It is, in a sense. The Highland Runes, they call it. Turn the page - there is one spell you will be able to read easily.'

Hermione couldn't describe herself as reluctant to turn the page. Learning new things had always excited her, but this still felt dangerous. As he said, she could read this one easily.

'_I know a twelfth one if I see,_

_up in a tree,_

_a dangling corpse in a noose,_

_I can so carve and colour the runes,_

_that the man walks_

_And talks with me.'_

She set the book down. 'A spell?'

'Yes.' Voldemort's red eyes gleamed at her. 'A Resurrection spell.'

Their lessons now focused entirely on reading the book. Hermione had spent a large amount of time trying to get Voldemort to touch it, eventually resorting to throwing it at his head.

He'd beaten her bloody for that.

Voldemort was absolutely adamant that she could read the Runes if only she tried hard enough. Some were easier than others, due to their similarity of the original Runes - but she'd never even heard of the Highland Runes before.

'If you can't, how do you expect me to be able to?' She once snapped at him angrily.

He only grinned at that. 'All in good time, my dear. All in good time.'

* * *

Her course had finished by the end of that day she was dismayed to find. So Hermione picked at one of the newer wounds Voldemort had given her until it bled again and then wiped some of it in her underwear. The trick didn't work. He arrived in her chambers the following night when she abed.

Working with magic had made Hermione bolder, more like her old self. She fought him just as hard as he fought her - clawing at him, biting, shrieking in his ear, anything she could do to keep him away. He'd managed to rip her nightgown from her, but Hermione would still not give in. She thought she'd succeeded when she'd smacked him hard across the face and sent his head crashing into the stone wall and quickly leapt off of the bed and backed away. But a stronger pair of arms grabbed her from behind and pulled her to the floor. Furiously, she wrestled against Krum, but he was even stronger than Voldemort. Krum pressed her down with his knees either side of her head, and holding onto her wrists. Her legs were free to kick about, but soon Voldemort had those pinned down as well and was fucking her hard and fast.

He took longer than usual that time. She could tell he was stopping himself from coming, preferring to play with her longer. Eventually though, he shuddered in relief and fell on top of her.

Hermione felt Krum move away and when Voldemort had gotten off of her, the ex-Quidditch player handed her a new robe.

'Did you enjoy your reward, Krum?' Voldemort asked as he tied up his trousers, flicking a wicked smile in Hermione's direction.

'Very much so, my lord. Thank you.'

'I let him see what I was seeing.' Voldemort explained to her, tweaking one of her nipples beneath the robe. 'I couldn't let him have you, so I gave him the next best thing.'

Hermione flushed angrily and looked down at her feet. She could feel Krum's stare burning into her. She felt dirtier than normal.

'Do you want to know what he did for me, Miss Granger? Why he got such a wonderful reward. Your old lover here killed the children of fifteen of some traitors in my midst. I wanted to kill the traitors themselves initially, but he persuaded me that it would be a much better punishment for them to see their children die. Don't you think?'

Hermione felt sick. She could feel his mind pressing into hers, no doubt trying to share some awful image of a dead child, but she managed to resist.

'And he shared a memory of his with me. A most delightful memory. Of your time with him at the Yule Ball, under the shade of a tree.'

She suppressed a sob.

* * *

_She was laughing. Viktor had been adding firewhiskey to their Pumpkin juice all night. She'd wanted to tell him off, but soon the effects of the drink had kicked in and she no longer had a care in the world. They'd left the Great Hall and gone wandering, soon finding themselves in the Forbidden Forest. At least, that's where Hermione thought they might be - she was too drunk to tell. _

_Viktor had pulled her close to him and kissed her. As usual she melted. It was wonderful. Even when he pushed her up against the tree she was delighted, it was so passionate. Hungrily, she continued to kiss him, unable to believe what she'd been missing out on. _

_His hand had started at her waist but soon found itself creeping up to her breast. It unnerved her and she was shy, but Hermione continued to kiss him. He gave it a gentle squeeze, and then started to make his way down her cleavage so he was groping at her bare breast. She didn't feel comfortable and tried to struggle against it, but he was much stronger and kept his mouth firmly on hers so that she couldn't cry out. After a while, Hermione told herself that she didn't mind. He was an older boy, of course he wanted to do that. And she'd let him. It wasn't a big deal. It was exciting. _

_But then he gave her another rough push against the tree and grabbed her hand, guiding it down to his trousers. He'd already undone them and Hermione was terrified as his hand was over her, coaxing her, his voice in her ear telling her what to do. _

'_Viktor, I-'_

'_Shut up.' _

_The drink was making her sleepy. It was getting her to ignore the voice screaming in her head for it to stop. It wasn't so bad. She reasoned. The drink made her less uncomfortable, if only slightly and as long as it didn't go any further it was fine. _

_But now his hands were scrabbling up her dress, pushing between her thighs. _

'_Viktor! Please! Stop!'_

'_Do it for me. Come on, do it for me. If you cared you would.' _

_She'd thought he had a point. Yet she was still terrified and tried to fight against him. When he slipped his fingers inside her she cried out in pain. _

_He shushed her and told her that it would only hurt a little while and then she would enjoy it. When he saw that she was crying he got angry and began to move faster, harder. _

_Eventually he moved his fingers, but she could feel his cock rubbing against the inside of her thigh, and his hands were pushing her legs further apart._

'_Viktor Krum!' _

_Viktor turned faster than she thought possible, and Hermione fell to the floor in shock. She could hear him arguing with Professor Karkaroff in Bulgarian, but had no idea what they were saying. She looked down at her beautiful dress robes, now all torn and muddy. Her hair was coming out as well from where he'd grabbed it so many times to kiss her. She'd felt like a Princess coming out of Gryffindor Tower. Now she felt like a whore. _

_Viktor stormed off and Professor Karkaroff helped her up. _

'_It is better that you do not speak of this to anyone.' He smiled at her, showing his thin yellow teeth. 'The poor boy is drunk, he is not himself. If he had been, he would never have presumed to go so far. If you tell anyone this, he will be in disgrace. He will have to give up his Quidditch dreams, he will have to go on trial. Miss Granger, I know how terrible you would feel if you made that happen. And just think, although it would go to trial - you would as well. Everyone would know how you are drunk now. They would see how pretty you are, they would know that you happily went with him to the Forbidden Forest, they will see what you were wearing,' he gave her an appreciative leer. 'They will only blame you more than him.' _

_She felt sick. It took all her energy on focusing on not throwing up. _

'_You do not want to be blamed, Miss Granger. And you do not want him to be blamed. I will have a word with the boy, when he is sober he will be mortified to learn what he has done. You don't want to scare away the one boy who loves you, do you?'_

_Miserably, Hermione shook her head. _

'_Good.' Karkaroff almost seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. 'I am glad. Off you run now. It will be our little secret that you broke so many school rules.' _

_She next saw Viktor by the Durmstrang ship. Initially she wanted to pretend that she hadn't seen him, but after noticing Ron staring at her she went to say good night. _

_Viktor was acting like nothing had happened. He was still drunk and gave her a sloppy kiss before departing with some of his friends. _

_Hermione gave Ron a cold look and swept past him up the marble staircase in a stony silence. She wasn't in the mood for his petty insults now. She wasn't in the mood to hear him crow that he was right, that Viktor had only been using her. No, that was a lie. It was just the drink. Everything would be fine in the morning. _

_When she got to the common room, she felt a hand grab her arm from behind. Still jumpy from what had just happened, Hermione turned around smacked whoever it was round the head. _

'_Bloody hell!' Ron swore, letting go. 'What the fuck was that for?' _

_She wanted to apologise, but before she could he narrowed his eyes at her. _

'_You're drunk. I can smell it on your breath.' _

'_I'm not.'_

'_You are, you can barely stand upright.' He gave a derisive snort. 'Really letting that Viktor corrupt you, aren't you?' _

_Hermione felt herself turn scarlet. 'Fuck you!' She screamed furiously. 'Don't talk to me like that.' _

'_Why not?' Ron bellowed back, also turning crimson. 'It's true! Look at you.' He flushed even more when he gave her the once over. _

_She was humiliated. Of course he'd assume something like that. She looked a dishevelled state. Hermione wanted to cry at that point and say that she hadn't done anything wrong. But why did she need to defend herself to Ron? He wasn't anything to her. He was just a friend. As Harry followed him through the portrait hall she yelled at him. _

'_Well, if you don't like it, you know what the solution is, don't you?' _

_Out of the corner of her eye she saw Harry looking absolutely bewildered. _

'_Oh yeah?' Ron yelled back. 'What's that?' _

'_Next time there's a ball, ask me before someone else does, and not as a last resort!' _

* * *

Hermione woke in a cold sweat. She hadn't thought about that day for years. Not even Ron knew what had happened.

'I really should have thanked Karkaroff more sincerely before killing him.' Voldemort mused from his throne near where she lay. 'He did a good job in making sure you stayed pure for me.'

They were in the training room. She'd fallen asleep clutching Gryffindor's book, but had no memory of being particularly tired.

'I wanted to see what things were like from your point of view.' Voldemort explained lazily. 'It certainly explains the row young Mr. Potter saw.'

'You saw that through Harry?'

'I saw many things through your friend. It's a dull and painful thing being slightly dead. I could travel to each of my horcruxes but objects stay still and see the same things every day. Nagini was put in a zoo. I managed to get some influence over Potter, and when he joined the wizarding world he became one of my only sources of information. You cannot know how delighted I was when you lied to say that you'd gone after the troll yourself. I'm sure the boys would never have befriended you otherwise.'

That really stung.

'It was wonderful having Potter and Granger so close in my grasp. But I was desperate to get rid of the spare. He held the two of you together. He was stronger than you let him believe. You did your best work with him - by yourselves you were weaker - more vulnerable.'

'Why me?' She snapped at him irritably, for what seemed like the thousandth time. 'And don't fucking answer about my powerful blood - who am I descended from? And how did you find out?'

As always he just smiled at her. He once had let it slip that it would be dangerous for her to know.

'After today our lessons will stop.' He announced instead. 'You have done well. You're pregnant.'

* * *

**Thoughts? I have the entirety of this story planned out anyway, but I always like to hear people's views. xx**


	6. Let me go

**Wow I have so many new followers! So to you gals and guys, a very warm welcome and to those who have always been here, welcome back! I've been struggling with my writing recently so this might be a little patchy, but I hope that you enjoy it anyway!**

This pregnancy was definitely more uncomfortable than the last. Her ankles were swollen, she was constantly nauseous and she couldn't get comfy. She was desperate to give birth there and then rather than grow any bigger, but it was too soon.

The pureblood women Narcissa was friends with were adamant that it was a boy, insisting that boys drained all a mother's energy. When one of the younger women piped up that it looked like Hermione was carrying a girl, she got a cuff around the ear.

She still remembered their astonishment when she told them that in the muggle world they could tell the sex of the baby before it was born. When she explained how, they'd been horrified and started angrily cursing muggle technology.

Voldemort and his followers had returned to their own dens once Hermione had felt the child quicken, but now an assortment of other people had flocked to the Manor to get a glimpse of her swollen belly. It felt like it wasn't her body any more. Hermione had always been a private person, and she hated the amount of people who would just reach out without warning and stroke her tummy - cooing to the unborn child inside.

Had she not been pregnant, there was no doubt in her mind that they would not have gone anywhere near her. She knew full well that her status as a mudblood still disgusted them and it was only due to them seeking more favour from Voldemort that they conversed with her. Hermione Granger remained very much a puzzle in this world. A mudblood with a secret that not even she knew.

The memory of labour still terrified her, but Narcissa had promised to be there along with an assortment of midwives and any other woman who could provide comfort. One of Hermione's favourites was a wizened old crone named Medusa (her father thought he was funny). She was sharp of features with an even sharper tongue, but she was good to Hermione and after sixteen children very knowledgeable about what to do and what worked. Medusa was also the only one Hermione had ever seen stand up to Voldemort in his court. Medusa didn't so much as stand up to him as ridicule him. Whenever he made a decision she didn't agree with, he would know instantly. If he didn't follow the correct courtesy he would get a curt reprimand.

'Medusa was very good to the Dark Lord when he was growing up.' Narcissa explained to her one day. 'I suppose she's the closest thing to a mother he's ever had.'

She hated it when people came out with things like that. She was unable to stop the sharp stab of sympathy for a motherless child who would later become this monster. It didn't matter how many times she reminded herself that because of this man Harry had also grown up an orphan, she couldn't shift the image of Voldemort as a child completely alone.

Hermione did not know if she would be able to mother this child. She wasn't even sure if she was allowed to mother Rose. Voldemort had always cut her off whenever she tried to speak of seeing her daughter again. But how she missed her. Her beautiful child who was always there with a smile, her little girl who was always eager to learn, her wonderful daughter whom she loved unconditionally. She couldn't bear it if they let her bond with this babe like they had with Rose and then turn around one day and take it away.

Lucius was eating breakfast in solitary silence when a delighted pregnant young woman came rushing in to disturb his peace.

'Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!' He was engulfed in a hug and then she left just as quickly as she arrived.

In astonishment he turned to his wife who was just slipping into the room. 'What on earth was that all about?'

Narcissa smiled hesitantly. 'She's allowed to go and see Rose today. The Dark Lord was um, kind enough, to say to her that he'd been persuaded by your good judgement of her character. Did you speak to him about it?'

Lucius frowned slightly. 'He may have mentioned something to me last week. I do not recall anything specific though.'

Narcissa bit her lip.

'What's the matter?'

'Everything has a catch with him, you know that, Lucius. She's so close to her time - anything that could stress her out could cause problems.'

'He knows this already. He won't hurt her while she's with child.'

'And after?' Narcissa demanded.

Lucius couldn't say.

She was in another gown from Voldemort today. He'd opted for blue again - this time in a pale silk and waterfall hems. Hermione had got Narcissa to go and buy a soft doll in Diagon Alley, but she'd come back empty handed so they'd had to gather up scraps of fabric and make a doll that way instead. It had turned out quite beautifully. Another doll had been made for the next baby as well, but clothes had still not been made for it and hair would not be added until after she knew the sex of the baby.

Would Rose even remember her? It had been nearly a year since she saw her little girl. She'd turned six last month. Surely that was old enough to remember her mother? Hermione decided to play it safe just in case.

But when Hermione was presented to Rose, her daughter ran at her and nearly knocked her over with the force of her hug.

'Hello,' Hermione said, trying hard not to cry. 'I've missed you too.'

Rose kept her face burrowed in Hermione's bump, clinging to her. She'd grown quite a bit, and lost some of that baby fat, but she still had those glorious red curls. She reached out to stroke them now and Rose raised her head.

Hermione recoiled in shock.

From eyebrow to jaw, Rose had a long thin fresh cut. The rest of her skin was covered in pinch marks. What broke Hermione's heart most though, was the haunted expression in her six year old's eyes.

When she was done tucking Rose into bed, Hermione stormed into Voldemort's apartments, shoving aside the guards who'd tried to block her entry.

It made him chuckle.

'What the fuck?' Hermione exploded. 'What the fuck are those marks on my daughter's face.'

Annoyingly, he looked pleased that she'd asked. Not bothering to rise from his chair he said. 'It's all part of her training, my dear.'

A cold surge of dread rushed through her. 'What training?' Hermione growled, her fists clenched.

'The Dark Arts.' Voldemort raised an eyebrow, although he was unable to hide the smug expression on his face. 'All of my children will have a full knowledge of them.'

'Never.' She spat. 'I won't allow it.'

'You're not in a position to argue with me.'

'She's six years old! She's a child.'

'A child showing an enormous amount of potential. I thought you would have been pleased.'

Hermione snorted. 'You knew full well how I'd react to this.'

Voldemort leaned back and considered her while she scowled at him. 'After all this time and you are still loyal to those who are dead.'

'Death isn't as final as you think it is.'

'Why do you cling on so? Do you think they'll all come back? Do you think he will?'

With a loud crack the dead body of Ronald Weasley appeared on the floor.

It had been an old trick of his to play this on her, but she still had to stifle a scream.

Ghastly white, skull crushed in, blood pouring from the side of his mouth, Ron's dead sunken eyes raised up to meet hers. Accusing.

Hermione quickly shut her eyes but the image still lingered there.

'How can you be so loyal to them in death, but run away while they were alive?'

_'__Hermione, run' Ron muttered out of the corner of his mouth, his brown eyes still not leaving Voldemort's. _

_She knew exactly what he was going to try and do. 'No. No. I'm not leaving you.' _

_'__You have to leave now.'_

_'__Ten.' Voldemort began his countdown. _

_'__Give me the wand, I can fight.' _

_'__Hermione, I would never forgive myself if something happened to you. Now run.' _

_'__Please, please.' _

_'__Kiss me and run.'_

_'__Ron I-'_

_'__Kiss me.'_

_And so she did, to the point where she didn't know whose tears were on her cheeks. His? Or hers?_

_'__Now go,' Ron had gently pushed them apart, away from him. 'Run.' _

_'__Five.'_

_'__I'm not leaving you.'_

_'__Please don't make me do something that I don't want to do.' _

_'__Ron, please, I-'_

_'__Imperio.' _

_And then she was running. _

'That's not fair.' Hermione sobbed as she opened her eyes. 'I tried to fight the curse. You will not distract me from the reason that I'm here.'

Voldemort glanced over her distress before looking at her protruding belly. It was then with a reluctance that he waved his hand and the body was gone. Hermione had been right. He wouldn't do anything to overly hurt her while she was pregnant.

She swallowed, focusing on regaining control of herself. She couldn't afford to become hysterical. She needed to be calm, rational and persuasive. Think of it like an exam.

'Six year olds may show magic but it doesn't mean they are capable of turning it into the dark arts just yet.' Hermione began steadily. 'Their magic is too raw and any attempt to expand it will just spiral it out of control. By all means, nurture what she has but if she continues with these lessons at this age, she may never be able to fully control her magic.' She swallowed. 'When she is older, you could see about resuming these lessons with her.'

Voldemort smirked. 'Don't play the martyr. I don't enjoy it as much. You don't want these lessons to continue because you want her to follow in your foolish ideals.' He rose from his chair and Hermione flinched as he stood towering over her. 'Rose is mine to do with as I please, as are you.' He grabbed her wrist and began to squeeze it tightly. 'Do not presume that you ever have any choice. It is only I who has the power here.' His fingernails were cutting into her skin. 'What's that old muggle expression? I say jump, you say how high? That is how it is. I will use Rose for power and I will use you for fucking and breeding. Is that understood?' Hermione gave a gasp of pain as blood began to trickle down her arm. 'Is that understood?'

Hermione nodded. 'Perfectly.'

Rose woke up in a panic. It was the same recurring dream. There were people screaming and crying, she was lost and confused, everyone was fighting one another and there was a flash of green light which she didn't understand but always filled her with dread.

Carefully she looked to see if her nursemaid was still awake. Luckily she was snoring away with a bottle of firewhisky in one hand and a copy of Witch Weekly in the other. Her nursemaid was nowhere near as lovely as her Mummy. Mummy stood up to the bad people and protected her. Mummy held her close and told her stories. Mummy said that her favourite thing in the world was to see her smile.

Rose didn't smile much any more. A man named Father had come to take her away, although sometimes she had to call him My Lord. She still remembered that day. Mummy had been screaming as they held her back. Father was smiling and kept a tight grip onto Rose that only made her feel all the more scared.

She was right to feel scared. Father insisted that she have lessons in the Dark Arts and the things she saw terrified her. On their first lesson Father had told her to pick one of his Death Eaters. Rose picked one of the only ones she remembered the names of and Father called him up onto the platform. He told Rose that if she were to misbehave, this would happen and sent a curse at him. The Death Eater fell to the floor, screaming and writhing around in pain which made Rose cry. Father then told her that if she continued to be bad then he would have no qualms about doing this, and sent a flash of terrible green light at the poor man. Father had killed him. When she sobbed and shouted at him for killing the man, Father had raised an eyebrow and said. 'I didn't kill him, Rose. You did.'

It was true. Rose had picked him. She'd picked the one who'd given her a cuddle when she fell over while running in the gardens.

From then Father made her hurt other people in her lessons. Rose would cry and say she couldn't bear it, but that only made Father more angry and he would threaten to kill them. It was only a week ago that Rose had mastered the Cruciatus curse.

A creak outside made her start with fear. Someone knew she was awake! Rose got in so much trouble if she was awake when she should be sleeping. Quickly, she burrowed under the duvet and squeezed her eyes tightly together, not even daring to breathe.

But then she heard the crank of the door handle and the squeal of the door opening. She heard the padding footsteps heading towards her bed.

When the duvet was thrown off of her a hand clasped over her mouth to stifle the scream. But it wasn't Father or one of the scary bad men. It was Mummy. Mummy wore a thick cloak, much too thick for indoors and had a bag slung around her shoulders. When Rose looked at her face she saw that Mummy had been crying, but now her mouth was set in grim determination.

'Quickly, Rose.' Mummy whispered. 'You need to get up. We're running away.'

**So, what did you all think? Last time these two tried to escape it all ended in tears. Second time lucky, perhaps? xx**


	7. You've got some nerve, you little whore

The wind shrieked loudly, occasionally wrapping itself around the frozen pair and biting. Snow was falling thick and fast but Hermione was grateful for it, their footsteps would be covered.

However, Rose had given up walking by now and was nestled up against her mother's shoulder her face pink with the cold and from crying. Hermione had tried desperately hard to keep her as warm as possible, stealing as many layers of clothing as she could fit on the child before escaping, but this winter was unnatural and all the cloaks in the world could not fight off the cold.

As for herself, she'd abandoned the luxurious dresses Voldemort had taken to making her wear and instead stolen a pair of trousers which she wore with an old battle corset and her cloak which hardly seemed to make things any better at all. As Hermione was not allowed outside, only slippers had ever been tailored for her so she'd had to steal a pair of boots by the door as they left - they were several sizes too big but it was better than nothing.

In all honesty Hermione had no formal plan. The furthest she'd thought of was stealing a wand and heading to the coast to see if it was possible to find a way to smuggle out. She'd overheard whispers in the past about the defences in Dover being weak, from there she only had to get to France and into hiding.

Bitterly though, she knew it wasn't good enough. She hated the fact that it hadn't been planned down to precision, that she'd done something so impulsive, but where Rose was concerned, Hermione's maternal instincts played havoc with her logic.

Hermione had a vague inkling of where they were headed. On her journey to this prison she'd made sure to keep a note of her surroundings. If her memory was correct, they'd need to head South until they got to the cross roads, they would then head East towards a nearby village she'd seen signs for. Villages were notorious for being looted and petty crime, Hermione knew full well she'd be able to steal what they needed: food, clothes and most importantly a wand.

The first thing she'd have to do with a wand was change their appearances. Rose's red hair was astonishing to everyone who saw it, she would attract far too much attention. As she walked Hermione tried to picture how they would look together. Ice blonde hair, long sharp noses, dark eyebrows and eyelashes, unblemished skin and cold grey eyes. They would blend into winter and melt away by the time summer came. She'd also decided that she would put a temporary spell on Rose that would make her mute. There was no way a child could be trusted with those secrets, and it would be easy enough to convince strangers that she was deaf.

That's if they even came across anyone. Hermione felt like they'd been walking for hours. Rose was getting heavier and heavier but she was too tired to walk and Hermione knew they'd die if they stopped moving. She forced her body to become stronger and ploughed on.

Leaving the grounds had been far easier than anticipated. Malfoy Manor was overwrought with defences - it was notorious for killing new servants just because the charms didn't recognise them yet. However, Voldemort's latest abode had only a large magical gate. Hermione obviously hadn't been stupid enough to try that one, but round the back of the garden she'd seen Death Eaters sneak off - there was a village some way away with a large pub and an even larger brothel. She'd had to avoid the village, her stomach clenching as she heard the screams coming from it and the overwhelming stench of disease, but quickly the pair had got away.

So long as she didn't bump into a drunken Death Eater, they were safe.

What seemed like hours passed. Had she made a mistake about the crossroads? Were they heading in the right direction? Hermione had had to wake Rose up and get her to walk, something she cried bitterly about until her tears were frozen on her raw pink cheeks.

On more than one occasion, Hermione cursed herself for dragging her daughter out into the cold, but what was the alternative? She could have waited, spent more time planning an escape, but what would have happened to them in the meantime? As far as Hermione knew, her time with her daughter was limited so she needed to act fast.

'Where are we going?' Rose whimpered, tugging on to her mother's hand.

'To safety.' Hermione tried to give her a reassuring smile. 'We won't let that bad man hurt us any more.'

'Do you mean Father?'

It felt like a kick in the rib cage when she heard her daughter call him that. It was a reminder that she was his. It made her see his features in Rose: the high cheekbones, the sharpness of her jawline, the little furrow of her brow when she was thinking. All these little things terrified her, so Hermione did whatever she could to block him out.

She cleared her throat. 'Yes, him and the others.'

'Father told me that they're ridding the world of bad people. He said he'd already done it in Britain but that I could help him do it in other countries too.'

That disturbed her. 'What else did he tell you?'

'He said that you were raised with bad people so sometimes you think the wrong thing. He says that one day you'll learn though. He says you need to learn because you can help him like I can.' Rose looked up at her mother curiously. 'How can we help him, Mummy?'

'By coming back wiv me.' A dark voice growled from behind them.

Instantly Hermione whirled around and pulled Rose close to her.

'Come quietly and I vill not hurt you.' Victor Krum spat, his wand pointed at Hermione's throat.

'No.' Hermione snarled back. 'We will not be going back with you, and you will not be hurting us.'

'Hermione, you have little choice in this. Stop trying to be the hero - aagh!'

Hermione had smacked him round the face with all the strength she could muster. Dazed, he fell to the floor and she took the opportunity to push Rose away from her.

'Run! Run!'

Her daughter looked terrified, but Hermione didn't have time to reassure her. Krum was already pulling out his wand, quickly she kicked it out of his hand only for him to grab her foot and pull her down onto the forest floor as well. He was on top of her in seconds and punched her hard in the face so she could taste blood. Screaming out with pain, Hermione lunged forward and started to claw at his face, her fingernails digging into his supple flesh until she could feel his blood trickling down her wrists. Krum grabbed her by the hair and smashed her head back on the ground. Seeing stars, Hermione stopped scratching at his face and worked instead on trying to get him off of her, but he smacked her head against the floor again and again until everything went black.

She awoke in the dungeons. Still weak from the fight, Hermione struggled to stand only to become aware that she had been chained to the wall. Her first thought was of Rose. Was she alright? Where was she? Had she managed to escape? She was still panicking over this when a voice hissed from the shadows.

'Crucio.'

The pain cut through her like a knife, but she managed to stop herself from screaming.

'Crucio.'

Burning fire. A muffled grunt escaped her lips.

'Crucio.'

Flesh being torn away. She cried out.

'Crucio.'

She could feel him thrusting inside her. She screamed.

'Stop!' Hermione pleaded, tears streaming down her face. 'Just stop! The baby-'

Voldemort grabbed her face and pulled her up to look at him. She had never seen him so angry.

'Is gone.' He spat in her face. 'My son died during your escape.'

Learning that was worse than any physical pain. A boy. She had not welcomed her pregnancy that was true, but the death of her son hit her far harder than she expected. Disbelievingly she moved a hand to the swell of her belly, waiting for some kind of reassuring kick.

'My Healers have assured me that they can remove him from you without any pain.' He seethed. 'But I don't believe that you are deserving of such a luxury! Debilis!'

What little strength she had left her and she flopped onto the floor again. Hermione was aware of him straddling her thighs and pulling up her robes to expose her belly, but she didn't see the long jagged knife.

With a quick attack, Voldemort sliced at her belly.

Hermione screamed out in agony as he cut again and again, pulling up at her flesh. Several times she passed out from loss of blood, but every time he would wake her up again with a spell.

She couldn't sit up to see what he was doing, but she could feel it all and she felt it when he pulled out the body of their son.

He used a spell to stitch her up again, this time allowing her to drift into unconsciousness while the magic did its work. When Hermione woke again, she was still covered in blood and a little sore but there was no gaping hole.

He'd placed their son by her head. He was tiny, only as long as their forearm, but perfectly formed. Hermione reached out to touch him. He was ice cold.

'Krum did this.' She whispered, tears spilling down her cheeks. 'When he fought me, he'

'No you did this.' Voldemort was still looming over, shaking. 'Your continual disobedience killed my son and could have killed my daughter too!' He caught her expression. 'She's safe in her room.'

'She is not safe.' Hermione snarled. 'That's why I took her away! That's why-'

Voldemort smacked her across the face. 'Be quiet!' He then began to tear at her clothes, shedding his own in the process. Hermione did her best to thrash against him and shrieked with rage when he forced himself into her and bit hard down onto her neck. The pair screamed at each other for over an hour while a new sibling was made for the baby son, dead on the floor next to them.

**Not completely happy with my writing style - I'm exhausted! So I might come back and rewrite this, but here was the general gist! **


	8. I'll kill you, you bastard

**Hello again everyone! Sorry for the massive gaps between updates, I've been rather busy! I hope you all enjoy this chapter, please leave a review!**

When she woke, Narcissa was gently mopping her brow with tears glistening in her eyes.

'Shh.' She soothed when she that Hermione had woken. 'Be still. Please be still. It's a miracle that you're still alive. They sent for me a week ago when your condition worsened. I've been taking care of Rose too - she's fine, just shaken up.'

Hermione pushed away her hand and looked at her surroundings. She'd been moved from the dungeons and back into her own rooms. Her bed was just a luxurious as when she had left it, but it was no comfort.

'My son died.'

She hadn't meant to say it. It was a slip of the tongue. It poisoned her head until she was so overwhelmed in grief it felt like she was drowning, but the kind of peaceful drowning where you just want it to be over quickly. She hated Krum. She hated Voldemort. But she hated herself even more. Hermione hated at failing anything and right she felt that she'd failed as a mother.

'My Lord.' Lucius tried his most charming smile on the madman pacing in front of him. 'Has the girl not been punished enough?'

'I will make her suffer!' Voldemort shrieked, whirling around and pointing his wand at Lucius. 'I will have her pay for the death of my son!'

Around the court various Death Eater murmured in agreement.

'As she should, my Lord.' Lucius continued smoothly, doing his best to ignore the wand. 'However I worry that your punishments may cause permanent damage. You need the girl to be healthy if you want her to bear your son.'

Voldemort lowered his wand, his eyes becoming more focused. Inwardly Lucius smiled. He had him! 'What do you suggest then, my slippery friend?'

'Hurt someone else in her place.' Lucius said bluntly. 'Someone she cares about. It will hurt her more than any injury you could inflict upon her. Not Rose-'

'Not Rose I'm not a fool.' His master hissed. 'Anything that hurts my child brings out a danger in that girl. Besides, it will have to be someone disposable.'

Lucius nodded. He had just the man in mind.

'Yaxley!' Voldemort turned his attention to his oldest friend. 'Who was in her year at school?'

Lucius started. No. This isn't what he had meant.

Yaxley gave a wheezy chuckle. 'You have many to choose from, My Lord. Very loyal Slytherins.'

'I don't want one of them.' Voldemort said, shooting Lucius a filthy look. 'Someone she would have been close to.'

None of the Gryffindors remain, my Lord.'

'The other houses then?'

'They are loyal subjects to you in the East. However, I do think we have one man employed in your service, my Lord.'

He prayed. It was what you were supposed to do before you died. But he was in such a panic he couldn't concentrate on the words he was saying. They all blurred into one. The only prayer making any sense in his head was the one where you gave thanks for food and drink. He'd be food and drink for the werewolves now.

The summons had appeared out of the blue. Apparently he was needed for a very important task. It was only when he was led into the room where a red robe lay waiting for him did he understand what truly was going on. Only traitors wore red. And they didn't wear it for very long.

Hermione Granger stood a few feet away from him, banging her fists against the forcefield and screaming at Lord Voldemort to stop. His master stood behind him, his wand pressed to the back of his neck, the touch was electric. His master was telling Hermione that it was her fault that he would be executed. This was the consequence of her running away. He could hear her begging to take his place, sobbing as she protested his innocence, promising to be obedient only if he would live. Then she'd get angry and threaten his master, shouting at him that she would run away again or hurt herself, when she threatened to find a way to make herself barren, Lord Voldemort shot a curse at her that knocked her to the floor.

He'd tried to be a good man. It was hard in this new world but he'd tried all the same. He took a rather boring job in accounts. It paid ok and he had a small group of friends from a similarly bland background. He'd dreamed of seeing this society grow into one more like before, some of the stricter rules would lax, people would grow to be more tolerant and soon it would be safe for everyone again. Was it better to have been one of the rebels fighting for that change? Was he wrong to be passive?

His Grandfather had been in one of the nazi concentration camps. A prisoner of war. He rarely spoke of it but one day he mentioned that he would often sing 'It's a long way to Tipperary' to cheer himself up.

He couldn't get it out of his head now.

_It's a long way to Tipperary,_

_It's a long way to go._

_It's a long way to Tipperary_

_To the sweetest girl I know!_

_Goodbye, Piccadilly,_

_Farewell, Leicester Square!_

_It's a long long way to Tipperary,_

_But my heart's right there._

**Our next chapter 'A whore who has gone to the bad' should be with you soon xx**


	9. A whore who's gone to the bad

**Hello again! Thanks for the favourites! I was quite nervous about writing this chapter but here goes anyway! Love to hear you responses. xx**

Since the brutal murder of Terry Boot, Hermione had refused to leave her rooms. Initially she'd wanted to create more trouble, but she couldn't deal with any more blood on her hands. Seeing him had reminded her of the days at Hogwarts. It should have been a comforting memory, but it was a blur of nameless faces. She shared a dorm with Lavender but who else? What did her Charms classroom look like? What was the Professor called? What colour were Ron's eyes?

Blue. She always remembered after a fashion. But each time took longer to recall what shade they were and how they looked at her. Hermione focused on that now as the maids laced her into a new gown. It was at Voldemort's demand. She was to leave her room and dine with him. It was strange. Hermione couldn't remember a time where she'd seen him eat before.

The new gown was crimson satin and black lace. As usual she hated it. It oozed lust and sexuality. It was a whore's gown.

Once she was deemed ready, guards came to collect her, ogling at her cleavage before taking her round to the other side of the Manor. Hermione had never been round here before. This was Voldemort's private tower. Any trespasser - even a lost one - would be cursed as soon as they hit the forcefield.

The steps were never ending. It was freezing too, there were no torches hung on the cold stone walls as there would be usually. Voldemort liked the cold. It kept him awake.

Over time the feeling of dread in her stomach over seeing him had begun to go down. However, she still retained a small slither of terror for this unpredictable madman. Nonetheless, she was curious to see what the room would look like. She'd be disappointed if it were emerald green with silver snakes - far too predictable. Hermione didn't have to wait long, they were at the entrance.

It was similar in design to the Chamber of Secrets but made of silver rather than stone and the centre depicted an engraving of a snake holding a lion, a badger and an eagle tight in its grasp. The picture was moving, the eagle was frantically flapping her wings, the badger shrieking and the lion trying to claw his way free, only the snake seemed serene.

'MiLord.' One of the guards called out. 'Miss Tribusanguis is here.'

Trib what? But Hermione's thought was interrupted.

'Enter.' She'd never heard his voice sound so strong.

The entrance swung open and she was pushed inside.

It was pitch black. Her eyes couldn't even adjust to it. Thankfully a large roaring fire was suddenly lit, illuminating most of the room.

Like the rest of the tower it was made from that cold grey stone, rough with age. Tapestries lined the wall, depicting scenes of the four founders arguing, a man stabbing himself over the body of a dead woman and Salazar Slytherin reaching for a baby.

Voldemort stood facing the fireplace, staring so closely at the flames she wondered if he was talking to someone. Above his head hung the sword of Godric Gryffindor. Hermione briefly delighted herself in a vision of it falling off its stand and cutting off his head.

'Harsh, don't you think?' Voldemort commented, still not facing her. 'I am the father of your children.' He turned around. 'I will always count my son.'

Hermione was genuinely baffled. Was that a streak of sorrow that briefly lit his face?

'Wine?' He held out a goblet.

'No.'

'I insist.'

'It sounds like a demand.'

'It is. I have invited you here. You must observe the rules of hospitality. I have offered you the wine. You must accept it graciously.'

Begrudgingly she took it. A thin smile curved on his lips. 'Good girl.'

'Why did they call me that other name?'

She'd thought to make him angry, but his smile stretched wider, pleased.

'It is the name I call you. Your true name.'

'My true name is Granger.' Hermione interrupted fiercely.

He held up a finger to silence her. 'You acquired that name. Your true name from generations before is Tribusanguis.'

'You've said my ancestors have powerful blood. I don't know any wizarding family with that name.'

'There was no wizarding family with that name.'

'But-'

'Drink your wine.' When she started to protest he spoke over her. 'I know that you've only been pretending to drink it.'

Hermione glared at him.

Sighing, Voldemort took the goblet and drank some. 'There.' He said. 'Satisfied? I have not poisoned it.'

Reluctantly she took a swig. Hermione had never cared for red wine, but this wasn't so bad.

'I've been told the punishment you received for running away worked well. I trust it won't happen again.'

Hermione pushed the image of Terry Boot's corpse from her mind. 'It won't.'

'Good. I might not be so merciful next time.'

'That wasn't mercy!' She spat. 'That was-'

'Quiet.' His voice had more authority than she was used to. 'Drink. Supper will be ready soon.'

Hermione hesitated.

'If I have to use Imperio then I will.' Voldemort said lightly. 'Rules of hospitality, remember?'

Determined to keep her own free will, Hermione took another sip.

'Good girl.' He said softly.

'If the Tribusanguis' weren't a wizarding family, how am I descended from them?'

'They never quite got the luxury of being a family, as such, they existed from generation to generation. No extra brothers and sisters to complicate things. You yourself are an only child?'

Hermione nodded. She had no intention of talking about her childhood with Voldemort. The wine was going to her head already, she had not drunk alcohol in so long, she moved to sit on one of the black velvet sofas. To her annoyance, Voldemort sat beside her.

'There are rebellions in the City. I must return to my main residence there. You and Rose will accompany me. It will be good for you both to see more of my work and how I am restoring order to these parts. It will be far busier than you are used to. There are other ladies at court and children for Rose to play with.'

Hermione nodded. Her head felt so heavy.

'There are far more rules to abide by than you are used to. Lady Malfoy will be teaching you. But mark my words, girl - the slightest toe out of line will have dire consequences. There are many young ladies who will be looking up to you.'

She nodded again, her head falling to his shoulder.

'There are many who do not understand my interest in you. Some have been foolish enough to say something. Others have simply thought it. But they don't understand. They can never understand. I must wait until I have my son. If they knew before then they'd steal you for themselves. I cannot let that happen. You are mine.'

She pushes him onto the bed and casts her gown over her head, followed by her bra. He tries to get up to push her down onto the bed and take control, but she pushes him back. _You're not allowed to get up_. She straddles him and begins to kiss his neck, getting more and more aggressive until she gets to his mouth. Then she rips off his shirt. He throws her underneath him and she arches her back in desire. He moves his mouth down her naked trembling body, biting the side of her hips and her inner thighs. With his teeth he removes the last of her clothing.

She grabs his head as he goes down on her, moaning with lust. It feels incredible. The best she has ever felt, she wants to scream out with pleasure. Swiftly, he removes his trousers and she grabs at him, to suck his dick. He begins to breathe heavier but he still doesn't want her in control. She must never be in control. He grabs her hair and forces all of his dick down her throat before picking her up and thrusting her onto the bed. She wants him so badly, he can tell by her erratic breathing but he just laughs at her and pins her arms to the bed. He bites and sucks her nipples as she gasps with pain and with pleasure. Satisfied, he rubs his dick against her, he's never known her to be so wet or to moan with such pleasure. She starts to cry and begging to be fucked. He obliges. She lets out a loud moan and begs for him to go deeper, her nails digging into his back. But she still wants to be control, she pushes him off of her and straddles him once more, her hand around his throat. He won't stand for this. He slaps her hard across the face and bites hard on her lip to draw blood. As she cries out in pain he shoves her round onto all fours and thrusts into her again, his hand around her throat to keep her in her place. She screams and he comes inside her.

Satisfied, Voldemort pushes her down. She's shaking uncontrollably and her eyes are still dark with desire as she begs for more but he's finished now and uses a charm to make her sleep.

Yes, a love potion was the way to do it.

**Yeah, sorrynotsorry to anyone who thought this was going to turn into a love story between the pair - it never will! xx**


	10. In this nest of whores and vipers

**Woo! Even more new followers and favourites! Thank you very much! Don't forget to leave a little review! I hope that you enjoy this next chapter xx**

She had never felt so filthy in all her life. No matter how many times she cleaned herself the dirt remained there. Last night she had begged for it. Screamed for it even, and now she was sickened by the constant reminder that she'd actually enjoyed it.

The moment she woke Hermione had cursed herself for being so trusting when it came to that wine. Of course it was spiked. What was the matter with her? She would have to be far more careful next time. A simple love potion! Red wine used to cover the scent. She felt disgusted with herself.

Hermione had hoped to sneak out of his rooms, but the door was locked. He was still asleep, muttering under his breath. She'd considered smothering him with a pillow, but knew that his reflexes were too fast for her. Besides, he was one of the few keeping her alive. Many others wanted her and Rose dead. So instead she found the shower, making the temperature as hot as she could as if it could burn his scent off of her. There were no fragrances to wash with, so she came out of the shower as if she'd been rained on rather than cleaned. There were three immaculate white towels that looked as if they'd never been used, yet Hermione still dried herself quickly - not wanting to share any more with him than she had to. Her gown had been ruined during last nights exertions, not that she cared to ever wear it again. Back in the bedroom however a simple a line chiffon blue dress had been laid out. It was actually quite pretty, something she would have worn in times long ago. Putting it on made her feel almost normal again. It could be worn in the muggle world. The muggle world! What was it like? There was music. There was always music. These days it was silence.

'I knew you'd like it.'

Startled, Hermione spun around. Voldemort was there, already dressed in his usual black robes and sitting in one of the armchairs by the fire. Nagini lay sleepily at his feet. She eyed the snake suspiciously. It had always made her feel uneasy.

Voldemort cocked an eyebrow. 'You seem distressed?'

'You drugged me' She spat at him with more venom than she thought she had. 'You've taken my body from me and last night you took my mind!'

He shrugged. It infuriated her.

'You are leaving me with nothing! Everyone deserves the right to own their mind and body! They belong to nobody else!' She was red in the face from screaming now. 'You cannot take these things away! I have the right to decide! I have the right to control over my body and my mind! It is not something that I will relinquish!'

She'd hoped to provoke a fight out of him. She'd expected it. Instead he just looked at her quizzically. 'It was just an experiment.'

'I am not yours to experiment with.'

Voldemort frowned slightly. Nagini gave her a reproachful look and slithered her way onto her masters lap. He put his hand on her head, as if for comfort.

'No. I am the most powerful man in the world and yet you defy me at every turn. I do not understand it. You will see at court how other women are desperate to be in my bed, but all I ever see from you is repulsion. I had thought that having children together would change it.'

'You can't force someone to fall in love with you.' Hermione said stonily, folding her arms.

'My mother made my father fall in love with her.'

Hermione was startled. It was the most personal thing he'd ever said, yet he spoke as if he were just updating her on the weather.

'She used a love potion for the whole of their relationship. When she found out that she was expecting me she stopped using the potion, thinking that he would stay. He didn't.' Voldemort cocked his head to one side and stared at her. 'That old fool Dumbledore used to fret that I could not love, but it made me the most powerful wizard in the world. If my son were conceived from a love potion then he would be powerful too. He would be like me.' He smirked. 'You are appalled?'

'I don't understand why you are so terrified of love.'

Voldemort rose from his chair in fury. 'I am not afraid of love!' He spat. 'I am not afraid of anything! I was born without love and it made me strong!'

'No' Hermione was feeling braver. 'It made you afraid.'

Angrily he smacked her across the face, causing her to crash onto the floor.

'Never speak to me like that again.' He hissed. 'While you spent your childhood crying for your mother and father, I spent mine growing stronger. While they held you back, I was able to push myself forwards.'

'Aren't you curious to know what it's like?' The question blurted out of her before she could stop it.

He frowned. 'Know what what's like?'

'Being loved. To know the love of a parent.'

Voldemort hesitated. She could almost see his thoughts. An orphan boy waiting for a family that never came. Being dressed up in his best and paraded in front of potential parents who'd adopt him. Watching as they took home the other children instead. Watching as he got rejected again and again and again. Watching as he found his father after years of searching and was cruelly laughed at, tormented and turned away.

'Enough!' He screamed.

Hermione was startled as she came out of the trance. She'd seen inside his head. She'd never seen him look so panicked.

'How did you do that?'

'I-I' She stammered, not sure how to respond.

'Tell me!' He screeched, hauling her up by the hair. 'Tell me how you did that!'

'I don't know!' She cried out. 'Please, I don't know! I just wondered how you felt and I knew! It wasn't like normal Legilimency! It just happened!'

Both were breathing hard and fast, but Hermione knew that he was more terrified than she was.

'Where did you learn to do Legilimency?' Voldemort shook her.

'I didn't! I've always been able to do it! It was one of the first pieces of magic I could do as a child! I didn't know what it was until I was thirteen!'

Voldemort pushed her away and moved over to the bookcase. Nagini slithered over to Hermione and hissed menacingly. She resisted the urge to kick her.

Voldemort was frantically searching through all of the books, tossing them on the floor until he found a slim blue notebook with silver writing on the outside in a language that Hermione did not know. He flicked through it quickly before stopping on a page and scanning it hard. She felt nervous. Why had this put him so on edge? It was true it was an unusual skill to be born with, but it hadn't caused any harm.

He continued to read the same page again and again. Hermione watched him with unease. At times like this he reminded her of a tightly coiled spring. So when he whispered at her to get out, she fled as quickly as she could.

Voldemort did not speak of the incident again and Hermione didn't see any reason to bring it up. His fear had sparked a curiousity inside her though. If she could see into his past, could she into his present? Could she see what he was planning? She'd never entertained the idea of using her Legilimency, she had not been properly trained and saw it as dark magic. It was an invasion of privacy. A weapon.

What she saw played in her head over and over again though. A small dark haired skinny boy with big haunted eyes watching at the window, staring at the other children, unsure of how to go and play. She wanted to mother him. To brush the dust off of his clothes and tell him what a special little boy he was. Maybe if someone had done that to him at the time, he wouldn't be the monster that he was today.

She'd heard the angry little voices in her head. Voices that told him that his mother couldn't have really loved him or she wouldn't have died. Voices that jeered at him because he had no father, or a father who didn't want him. She desperately wanted to say that it wasn't true.

But it was. His father had walked out on him. He'd laughed in his face when he came looking for him. He told him to leave and called him a mistake. His father wasn't a real father.

No. She had to stop this. She couldn't feel sympathy for this man. Whatever his background, it did not excuse his behaviour today.

Did it?

Narcissa had begun to teach her the etiquette that would be required of her at court. Hermione really couldn't be bothered with it all. There were only so many ways of saying 'smile and keep your mouth shut'. Everyone would bow to her. She would bow only to Voldemort.

Hermione would have as her companions Martine Copplestone, Melinda Bobbin, Zoe Accrington, Claudine Sandhurst, Delilah Greengrass, Pansy Parkinson and Bellatrix Lestrange. None of these gave her any pleasure. Her only thanks would be that Narcissa would be there to guide her. Pansy had tormented her at school. She'd made her feel worthless. How was she to endure seeing her again? And Bellatrix Lestrange? She shuddered at the thought. She could only pray that Narcissa could keep her sister under control.

She would have to manage these ladies and oversee their tasks in the running of the court. She would also be a guide to the young unmarried pureblood women and approve their husbands when the time was right. She would be Queen.

Nonetheless, the thought made Hermione sick. She'd spent years in isolation, desperate to get out but now she craved for it again. She had not wanted to be put on display. Her only consolation would be that she got to see Rose again.

Hermione had not conceived the night Voldemort drugged her. She conceived some days later whilst only pretending to be under the influence of the potion, having asked Narcissa to smuggle her the antidote before. It was horrible and degrading to pretend to be in love with such a monster, but at least she got to keep her mind. It was only when she announced her pregnancy to Voldemort did he tell her that she would be allowed to bring up Rose.

Hermione was over the moon. Everything she had done up to that point had been worth it. Even clinging onto Voldemort and crying out that he was the best, the very best had been a price worth paying.

It also put her mind at ease that this child had not been conceived under a love potion. What Voldemort had said about him being unable to love because he was conceived under the influence of a love potion, had greatly concerned Hermione. She had no desire to bear another Voldemort. This child would not be born out of love. But she would love her child.

Two months into her pregnancy, Hermione moved with Voldemort from The Valley to The Fen. Voldemort had insisted on side-along apparition, so she was spared the humiliating ritual of being paraded out in a carriage, but having not apperated in such a long time and still suffering from morning sickness, Hermione nearly threw up.

It was a spectacular palace of white marble, emerald, silver and gold. She'd never seen so much wealth in one place. It was really quite gaudy. Voldemort squeezed her hand and gave her a rare smile. 'Our new home.'

She nearly threw up again. His domestic comments were always meant to mock her. He was a child playing house, knowing full well that it is what she had wanted with someone else instead of him.

Quickly the pair were ushered inside with many hushed murmurings of 'My Lord' and the occasional 'My Lady'. It made Hermione cringe. The inside was even brighter and the courtiers were brighter still, incredibly bejewelled to the point where she wondered how they were able to stay upright with that weight on them.

No two people had the same reaction when they saw her. A flicker of a genuine smile. A snooty stare. A bewildered gaze. A harsh glare. An over the top pretentious smile ran towards her and embraced her.

'Oh it's so good to see you again!' Pansy Parkinson cooed in Hermione's ear. 'How wonderful!'

Hermione looked at her old school enemy in disgust. Pansy seemed not to notice. She was too busy grinning from ear to ear.

She looked ridiculous. She wore a wide burnt orange taffeta gown with a green satin underskirt and ermine lining on the sleeves and hem. Her corset was embroidered with gold thread and gemstones of all different sizes and colours while her throat was adorned with a dozen different necklaces of emeralds, onyx and sapphires. Her hair had to be a wig, Hermione had never seen hair so high - it mimicked the style of Marie Antoinette with diamonds and large green bows. Pansy's nastiness had always made her look ugly. Now her vanity made her look uglier still.

Voldemort was smiling at the pair. 'Careful, Mrs. Yaxley. Mind the child.'

'Oh yes!' Pansy gave a very girlish giggle that made Hermione's skin crawl. 'What a precious little thing! My Lord, your other daughter waits upstairs.'

Rose! Hermione felt a burst of adrenaline surge through her. 'When can I see her?' She interrupted.

'You still have many things to do.' Voldemort was enjoying this. Toying with her. Once they are done, I will consider your request.' He waited for her to thank him.

She didn't.

For five hours she had to go through meeting all the people who had gathered to welcome Voldemort back. Pretending to have learnt their names and nodding as they bored her with stories of her great Voldemort was. All she could think of was Rose.

When Voldemort announced that the meetings were over, she was ecstatic and felt that a visit to her daughter was well overdue! But instead she was led to another room where Pansy, Zoe and Claudine held fabric around her and ordered the seamstress to make new gowns for her. They were all dressed as flamboyantly as Pansy, and Hermione didn't get the feeling that they'd specifically dressed up for this. They wanted her to dress as flamboyantly too, loading her with jewels until Narcissa came in and said that Voldemort preferred Hermione to be more subtle. That took them aback but they complied anyway. From then on Narcissa designed the gowns. They were still far more revealing than Hermione would have liked, but they were a definite improvement.

'Thank you.' Hermione whispered to Narcissa as she measured her waist. 'Some of those fabrics look truly awful.'

'I know.' Narcissa grimaced. 'Fashion these days is all about putting as much richness as you can, there's no regard for whether or not anything actually looks nice!'

Hermione suppressed a giggle.

'Besides, it's true. He does prefer you to be different. We may all have to dress like clowns at court, but he likes you in simpler attire.' Narcissa smiled and stroked a tendril of hair away from Hermione's face. 'You're beautiful enough as it is, you don't need anything else.'

'I don't think that I'll ever believe that I'm beautiful.' Hermione smiled a little sadly.

Narcissa looked taken aback. 'Did your mother never tell you that you look beautiful?'

'Oh yes, she tried to tell me every day. But somehow we always manage to listen to people's bad perceptions of us rather than the good.'

Narcissa stroked her arm gently. 'That's very wise of you. Very sad. But very wise. Your parents would be proud.'

'If they knew who I were' Hermione said bitterly.

'You've done a fantastic job.' Narcissa lowered her voice. 'He's been looking for them for years. Scouts are still out searching for them. There is no clue to go on. They're combing the world looking for two people who no longer look entirely the same and who have different identities and memories. I do not know of any other witch or wizard who has the power to do that'.

Hermione smiled. 'Not even Voldemort?'

'Not even him.' Narcissa winked. 'Come on, let's go and read Rose a story.'

Rose was ecstatic when her mother walked into the room. She begged to sit on Hermione's lap and be read a story. Hermione was touched to see that she still had the doll that she'd made for her.

Rose was now looking a lot healthier. No injuries marked her face and she looked a lot happier. Nonetheless she clung onto Hermione, desperately fighting sleep, not wanting to see her go.

Hermione was over the moon. She had not yet told Rose that she was pregnant again. It was too much information for her before bed.

Rose's bedroom was far nicer than it had been before. Pink and white with little pink rosebuds painted on the walls. A collection of toys lay neatly in the corner. Her gorgeous little dresses hung up in the wardrobe with bags of rose petals tied around the necks to keep them smelling fresh.

Hermione stayed at sat with Rose awhile; even in sleep Rose clung tight onto Hermione's hand as if she would never let go. Hermione did not mind. She would probably go to sleep here tonight as well. All was peaceful until Bellatrix Lestrange walked through the door.


	11. What's the substance of this brawl

**Hello again! Hope you enjoy!**

'Get away from her' she snarled.

Startled, Bellatrix drew her wand. Her eyes just as dark and frantic as she remembered them.

Hermione could remember this woman torturing her. She could remember screaming in agony and pleading for mercy whilst this demented witch screeched over her. Hermione felt her scars tingle.

'Leave now and I won't kill you.' Hermione said through gritted teeth. She meant it. Bellatrix could obviously see that too, but her usual confidence was gone. She was frightened.

'I only came to say goodnight.' Bellatrix looked and sounded like a child. 'As I do every night.'

Hermione was ready to curse her when she felt a hand grab her shoulder.

'It's alright, Hermione.' Narcissa said urgently. 'Please, my sister means no harm.' The older woman looked at Bellatrix. 'Go back to you room, I'll see you soon.'

As soon as she left, Hermione rounded on Narcissa. 'She will never go anywhere near my child again!'

'Please!' Narcissa fell to her knees and grabbed her hands. 'You mustn't! It would destroy her. I promise you, she has always been gentle with Rose. Rose enjoys her company!'

'Does she know that her mother was tortured by that woman?' Hermione snapped.

Narcissa flinched. 'I cannot expect you to forgive my sister for that.' Her voice wavered. 'But if you could just try and understand-'

'Understand what? Your sister lusts after bloodsport! She has killed and tortured my friends. She would kill my family for being muggles. She would kill me for being a mudblood!'

It was only for a second, but Hermione caught the look Narcissa gave her. 'I am a mudblood! Both of my parents are muggleborn! I'm not adopted! Why do people act like I'm something else?'

'My sisters and I had the same upbringing.' Narcissa hurriedly changed the subject. 'My rebellious sister, Andromeda, ran off with a muggleborn. I was the apple of my parents eye, I held their views because it is what they expected of me. Bellatrix was the same as me, disdainful of muggleborns, disgusted by muggles, but when she was fourteen that changed. She was attacked by a gang of muggles. It destroyed her. Shortly after that the Dark Lord came into our lives. He took particular interest in Bellatrix. He knew that he could use her pain. He changed her. He made her always frightened, always ready to attack.'

Hermione had felt a fluttering of sympathy in her chest but she determinedly suppressed it.

'If you were hoping that this would allow her to be near Rose, then it's having the opposite effect.' Hermione said frostily. 'She's unpredictable and dangerous.'

'Bellatrix never got to be a mother!' Narcissa burst out. 'She was so desperate to be one. The Dark Lord took away that opportunity. Seeing Rose makes her more normal! More how she used to be! Please.' Tears were beginning to shine in her eyes. 'I don't know what she'll do if her one joy in the world is taken away.'

'I have my child to think of.' Hermione said flatly. 'Please leave.'

'But, Hermione-'

'Leave.'

She was four months pregnant and only just beginning to show. She'd explained to Rose that there was a baby in her belly, inspiring a lot of awkward questions. In the end she proposed they play a game to take her mind off of it.

Later once Rose was tucked in bed, Hermione was walking back to her rooms when she heard a dreadful scream. It made her blood curdle. Without a second thought she was running to the source of the noise. By the fireplace there were a large cluster of Death Eaters, some grimacing, some smirking. Hermione pushed through them all. In the centre, on her knees and shaking uncontrollably was Bellatrix Lestrange; her eyes rolling out of control, her hair wilder than ever and biting her lip so hard blood was dribbling down her chin. Narcissa knelt beside her looking helpless.

'They're coming for me!' Bellatrix was screaming. 'Help me! They're coming for me!'

'No one is coming for you! There is no one there!'

'Stop lying!' Bellatrix screeched. 'Why won't you help me?'

'Shouldn't we fetch someone?' Hermione demanded, turning to the nearest Death Eater. 'Her husband?'

The Death Eater snorted. 'Why would he care? Those two are just about loved up as the Dark Lord and Harry Potter.'

Hermione flinched at her friends name, but continued. 'A Healer then?'

Another Death Eater behind her scoffed. 'What can he do? The bitch is insane that's all there is to it.'

Hermione glanced back at the witch on the floor. She was sobbing and screaming as if in pain, thrashing about fighting off imaginary attackers. Instinct kicked in.

Hermione gently nudged Narcissa out of the way and took her place beside Bellatrix. Her eyes were rolling back into her head as she jerked around violently. Hermione took her hands, instantly knowing what to do. 'Bellatrix.' She said softly. 'Where are you?' 'In the alley.' Bellatrix managed to say through sobs. 'They're coming for me! Please don't let them get me! Please! Hide me!'

'I will.' Hermione said firmly. 'But only if you do exactly as I say.'

Bellatrix hesitated, but whatever she could see in her head frightened her enough to cling on to Hermione.

'I need you to breathe with me.' Hermione continued steadily. 'When you're breathing with me, I will apparate you away.' Bellatrix whimpered. 'I can't do it while you're like this. You have to help me out by breathing properly. Come on.'

Slowly Bellatrix's breathing started to get back to normal with Hermione's encouragements. Once satisfied with her patients progress, Hermione got the older witch to close her eyes.

'We're going to apparate now. Away from here. Away from these people. They cannot follow you. You will be safe. I promise you, you will be safe. Are you ready?'

Bellatrix nodded.

'Good. Now keep your eyes closed and just concentrate on matching your breathing with mine. In. Out. In. Out'

Hermione continued patiently as she waited for Bellatrix to calm down, at some points she jolted with fear but Hermione kept a firm hold on her and soon Bellatrix had fallen asleep. When Hermione looked up for help she was met by a dozen shocked faces - some horrified and the gleeful smile of Lord Voldemort himself.

**I have a backstory for Bellatrix that I have been writing, but I won't be posting until this series is out of the way! Nearly there!**


	12. She left a mark

**Hope you enjoy!**

'What?' Hermione demanded later when Narcissa came into her rooms. 'What was that look for? Why was everyone staring? I was only doing what any decent human being would have done!'

'You have healing powers.' Narcissa said slowly, not meeting Hermione's eyes. She still looked just as shocked as she did a few hours ago.

'No, I don't have healing powers.' Hermione snapped. 'I have logic. She needed to calm down before she caused herself any more harm. All I did was get her to focus on her breathing. Anyone could do it.'

'No, you don't understand!' Narcissa bit her lip, still avoiding her gaze. 'Hermione, when you were calming my sister down, the pair of you were - were - glowing.'

There was a pause.

'Glowing?' Hermione scoffed. 'Glowing?'

'It's true!' Narcissa looked at her desperately. 'It's ancient magic. Healing powers are so rare. I'd heard they'd disappeared centuries ago.'

'We still have healers-'

'Not that kind.' Narcissa waved it away impatiently. 'Healers have learned about medicine with spells and potions and herbs. A true Healer - one with healing powers, has the ability to heal someone just by touching them.'

Hermione immediately thought of the Biblical stories she'd been told as a little girl.

'Not quite like that.' Narcissa said softly. 'They are miracles. A true Healer is born with the gift but it will fade if not nurtured, to be great you have to practice. It is both a blessing and a curse.'

'How can it be a curse?' Hermione was genuinely baffled.

'It's the guilt that you feel when a loved one dies. The guilt that you weren't there to save them. It's the guilt that Rowena Ravenclaw felt when her only daughter was stabbed. It's the guilt that killed her.'

'Rowena Ravenclaw had healing powers?'

'Yes.' Narcissa hesitated, her face full of worry. 'And it was thought until today that the gift died with her.'

Hermione had never sought out Voldemort before if she could help it. But now she needed something from him.

The following morning, she rose quickly. Batted away the maids who tried to dress her in the fancier court clothes and put on a simple blue robe. Then she went to the nursery, woke Rose, helped her dress and set out some studying for her to do. It was better that Rose wasn't around as Hermione went searching for Voldemort. She found him in the study with his Death Eaters all dressed in their hunting gear and surveying a map on the desk. She felt sick to her stomach. Who were they hunting for now?

'My dear.' Voldemort smiled at her when she came in, it made her feel sick. 'How is my child?'

'Well.' Hermione said flatly. It was far easier to pretend that this baby wasn't his. 'I need access to-'

'The library.' He finished for her, turning back to the map. 'Not today, my dear. I'm quite busy.'

The other Death Eaters smirked at her. She could feel the anger bubbling up inside her.

'But-'

'If you say please, I might consider it.'

One of the Death Eaters chuckled. Hermione shot him a filthy look.

'Please may I have access to the library?'

'Please, my Lord.' He corrected her.

Hermione suppressed a snarl. She hated having to call him that. She refused to recognise him by the title he had taken for himself. Nonetheless she needed to do some research. She needed to be on the same page as him as to her heritage.

'Please,' Hermione began through gritted teeth, 'may I have access to the library,' she swallowed, 'my Lord?'

Voldemort gave a triumph grin to his followers before nodding and shooing her out.

'Gloat now.' Hermione thought inwardly. 'But I'll have the upper hand.'

Or so she'd thought. There were thousands of books in the library, beautifully preserved (had many of them even been read?) detailing everything you might need to know about the Wizarding World. Hermione had fought temptation numerous times not to pick up some of the other more compelling reads. She needed more specific information.

While the books about the four Hogwarts founders detailed their individual accomplishments and the building of the school, they remained suspiciously quiet about the reason for Salazar leaving and their bloodlines. One incredibly ornate book was on display in a crystal cabinet which explained how Voldemort was a descendent from Slytherin - but the other three founders were unusually quiet. So far, Hermione had found out that Godric and his only son had died in battle, there were no records for Helga having any children and each of Rowena's three children's descendents all quickly died out. The closest to Rowena's family she could get was the distant relatives the Peverells, but none of them had been reported to having any healing qualities.

Hermione was just about to give up when she discovered a small slim book hidden towards the back of the shelf. She blew the dust off the cover and read.

'The line of Ravenclaw.'

Excited, Hermione delved in. Ravenclaw had only been Rowena's married name so Hermione had to skip quite a few chapters to get to her.

_After his triumphant victory at Newcastle, Richard Ravenclaw finally settled down and married a beautiful witch named Rowena from the Scottish isles. Rowena was known for her independence and temper and therefore seen as a very unusual choice of bride in a time where witches were best seen and not heard. However, Richard delighted in his young bride and encouraged her pursue her learning, later claiming that his wife was far more intelligent than he was. Only 2 years after their marriage, Rowena returned to Scotland to visit her elderly father and was captured by muggles of the muggle King's court. The muggle King Harolde was enchanted by her wit and beauty and kept her at his court hoping that she would soon fall in love with him. Richard fought tirelessly to reclaim his young bride, but the laws separating magicfolk from muggles prevented him from going to the castle to win her by magic. Luckily, after only three months, Rowena was able to escape by transforming into an eagle. Delighted with his wife's cleverness, Richard changed the family emblem from a raven to an eagle to honor his young wife. _

_Richard worked tirelessly to set up the Ministry of Magic after the death of the Wizard King, fighting against those who wanted his distant relatives to take the throne. However, these distant relatives were muggles of another kingdom and were deemed not suitable by many of the wizarding population. Nonetheless, Richard also fought to maintain a good relationship between the Ministry of Magic and the royal family. _

_In the meantime, Rowena was focusing on being co-founder of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She set up the following classes: History of Magic, Charms, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes and Magical Theory. She was also behind the majority of the architecture design of the castle. During these years she bore 2 sons Exuperio and Benedict. _

_Seven years later, the Ravenclaws moved to Albania after Richard was threatened with war. While many volunteered to fight for him, Richard did not like bloodshed and instead chose to formulate a plan. During this time Rowena gave birth to a daughter named Helena. It is said that she was angry with her husband for taking them away from the school she was so proud of and was therefore exuberant when their exile ended four years later. _

_On their return to England the Ravenclaws entered a new chapter in their lives that would change everything. _

Eagerly Hermione turned over the page but was instead met with the genealogy of the Renley family. That couldn't be where it ended could it? The great family of Ravenclaw had one of the slimmest sections in the book. It was clear that Voldemort was hiding something from her. The question was what?


	13. She will answer to the court

A week later Hermione was woken by crippling pain and blood pouring down her legs. She was only five months pregnant. Her baby was in danger. Hermione screamed out for help and within seconds a dozen ladies were around her massaging her belly with salves and trying to make her drink potion after potion. Her heart began to race faster and she began to shake and sweat drifting in and out of consciousness. She couldn't lose another baby. She was sure that the quality of her life and that of her daughter's depended on it.

The fever lasted just over a month. Voldemort had ordered an investigation and discovered that poison had been slipped into Hermione's food. There was no evidence to implement anyone so he killed everyone who had access to the meals, sticking their bodies on spikes and parading them in the nearby villages. Hermione felt nauseated when she found out but just as sick at the thought of someone trying to poison her and her unborn child. The poisoner could be anyone. A supporter of Voldemort who resented his relationship with a mudblood, a rebel of Voldemort who resented Hermione and her children. Once upon a time all rebels had championed Hermione, these days there were some who called for her death as loudly as they called for Voldemort's. She wanted to scream out that she was not kept here willingly, that this was not the comfortable lifestyle it might look like from the outside. Who was on the outside? Clearly there were still rebels who remained, evident by the amount of Death Eaters Voldemort would send out after them, but she was kept from knowing their identities or locations.

Miraculously she hadn't lost the baby. Dark wizards knew how to kill, but they also knew the antidote. Had she been on the other side Hermione wasn't sure that they would have been so lucky.

Nonetheless she had been told to stay in bed for the remainder of this pregnancy. Bed rest and seclusion were to keep her and the baby safe. Not even Rose was allowed to visit her as she was also kept secluded. Hermione had done her best to quiz her attendants about possible suspects but they'd all remained silent. Infuriatingly, Narcissa had kept away, knowing full well that Hermione would question her until she got answers. None of her attendants were high up enough to know anything other than gossip, whereas Narcissa was in a perfect position to hear everything without being seen.

However, Narcissa stayed away until Hermione's waters broke and by then she was too distracted to quiz her. Her attendants supported her as they walked her round the room trying to ease some of the discomfort. Seven hours later and Hermione collapsed onto the bed exhausted.

_'__My Lord, it's been 2 days. You need to make a decision.' _

_'__Do not presume to tell me what to do.' _

_'__Forgive me, my Lord. I did not mean to speak out of turn. But the girl is growing weaker by the second. All the Healers say the same thing. It's her or the baby, they do not believe that they can save both.' _

_'__A lack of belief isn't good enough. They will save both mother and my child.'_

_'__My Lord!'_

_'__They will save both or risk my displeasure. Failure is not an option.' _

It was another girl. Hermione clung onto her daughter as she heard Voldemort's scream of rage. She clung to her daughter even more when they came to take her away but they won again.


	14. A child who sorely needs me

**In which Hermione does something Very un-Hermioneish! Please don't judge her too harshly! **

**Thanks to those who have been following, favouriting and reviewing - keep it up! **

**Enjoy xx**

'You cannot keep me from my children.'

Voldemort didn't even glance up from the pensieve, since Hermione had entered the room he'd made no inclination of her presence. His brow was furrowed, deep in thought and his hands were holding onto the stone as if he might collapse at any moment.

It had been 2 months since Hermione had given birth to another girl, Ivy. Her daughters were with one another, that much she knew, but she had no idea where they resided or when she might see them again. It was a terrible situation.

'I mean it.' Her voice cut through him like ice. 'If you continue to keep me from them you will regret it.'

Voldemort sighed and massaged his temple, still not bothering to look at her. 'You can see our daughters when you give me a son.'

'Not good enough.' Hermione snarled. 'I will see them when I like. I will see them now.'

'When you give me a son.'

'I won't give you one. You won't touch me.'

In an instant he was over her, a hand tight around her throat lifting her off the floor. 'I can do what I like, girl.' He hissed. 'I am the most powerful wizard in the world. You will submit to my will be it through magic or my death eaters tying you down.' In disgust he dropped her and Hermione fell to the floor gasping and massaging her throat, hating him for being right.

The years with him had taught her that fighting was futile. Nonetheless the fight had still not died within her. She was still a Gryffindor, not a Slytherin who could smile, simper and flatter her way into getting what she wanted. But she would do anything for her children.

'Where are they?'

Voldemort smirked, clearly pleased that she sounded more broken than she had before.

'Safe. Enjoying each other's company. I visit every evening. Rose often asks after you.'

'And you say?' Hermione spoke through gritted teeth.

'That her mother is most unwell and it may be some time before you are all reunited. I tell her that you will only get better when you decide to behave.'

'That's not fair.'

Instantly she regretted her choice of words, she hated sounded like a petulant child.

'I don't care. You will learn to obey me. Your disobedience only affects our children, it makes no difference to me. Every step you take away from me is a step away from our girls. Do I make myself clear?'

'Perfectly.'

From then on she stayed out of his way, hoping he'd mistake her silence for obedience. Over time he put this to test by insisting she attend him at various functions, standing by him while he ordered executions and pillages of the poor villages. Cowardly acts.

On the few occasions where she was allowed to remain behind, Ernie would hover over her gabbling merrily about some dinner party he'd been to while Hermione continued her work on deciphering the Highland Runes.

It hadn't taken long for her to work out that she was the only one able to touch it without being affected by the curse. Everyone else handed it to her wrapped up in green velvet.

Everytime she thought she got so far there'd be a setback and she'd have to start over again - as if the book didn't want her to decipher what was written! Voldemort checked on her progress every day, yet she was never able to tell him anything new. It was infuriating.

As an incentive to get the job done, Voldemort told Hermione that she'd be able to see her children once the runes were translated. It was only a slim book, but Hermione still worried over how long it would take her.

Still, she couldn't believe that she was tracing her finger over the words that Godric Gryffindor himself had once written down.

Why had he been so fascinated with death? Was he frightened of it, like Voldemort? Or was he just a keen learner who didn't want the information to fall into the wrong hands?

She'd been working on the translations for just over a week when Krum replaced Ernie as her main guard. When he came in with a shy little smile she seethed. 'Fuck you.'

He looked hurt, his eyes filled with longing.

Hermione scoffed. The kind of man who always wanted what he couldn't have. The best thing to do would be to ignore him. But that got quite difficult when he crept up behind her and started breathing down her neck. When she made to bat him away he caught her hand, forcing her to look at him.

'Fuck off.' Hermione snarled.

Krum didn't even acknowledge her reaction, cupping her face in his hand and pulling her in for a kiss.

With a scream of fury, Hermione pushed away and slapped him. But Krum was significantly stronger and continued to hold her fast, the other hand roughly stroking her body. She'd seen that look in his eye before. She had no desire to relive it. As soon as he was distracted she picked up Godric's book and smacked him round the head with it.

Krum gave a howl of pain as he fell to the floor, writhing in agony and nursing an angry burn on the side of his head.

Hermione looked back at the book. It was perfectly preserved. Holding him firmly on the ground she hit him with it - across the face this time - and was stunned as she watched part of his flesh melt away. Tears were streaming down Krum's face, but something pushed Hermione on, thirsty for pain. It was the darkest part of her and for the first time she gave in to it. It enfolded her in blood lust, it was caressing and soothing. However, when she came out of her trance she screamed in horror over what she'd done.

Krum was now a mess of charred and melted flesh, his eyes rolling back in their sockets, blood tricking out of his mouth. Instantly she leapt off him and smacked into Voldemort himself.

The satisfied smile on his face made her feel sick. He was supposed to be away. How long had he been watching? Was this a set up?

He gently took her hand, making her skin crawl, and placed her training wand in her palm.

'You know what to do.' Voldemort said softly, his red eyes burning into her.

Krum was still alive. His breathing jagged and hoarse as he choked on his own blood. Hermione looked over his injuries in horror and revulsion. She didn't know how many potions it would take to fix this. Her only option was a healing spell. With a surprisingly steady hand she pointed the wand at his chest.

'Avada Kedavra.'

She'd killed a man. She'd looked a man in the eye and killed him. What's more she'd done it on purpose. What felt worse was the lack of remorse. She'd tried to make herself feel it. Tried to feel sorry for what she had done. She even pinched at her eyes hoping to prompt some tears. There were none.

She was a monster.

She had to be. Monsters murdered people without feeling any remorse. Monsters like Voldemort.

Hermione spent all night praying for forgiveness. Forgiveness for murder and forgiveness for not feeling sorry for it.

The next morning she didn't get out of bed, batting away her jailors and refusing to do anything they asked of her. Eventually they gave up and left her alone. Hermione was fully expecting an armed Death Eater to storm through the door and haul her out of bed, but to her surprise it was Lucius.

He sat on the bed in an oddly fatherly gesture and gave her a small sad smile.

'You're feeling guilty' He observed.

Hermione buried her face in her pillow.

'It's ok. I felt the same after my first killing. The guilt at not feeling anything at all.'

She peeped up at him curiously. 'Nothing?'

'Nothing.' He confirmed. 'I'd expected it to go one of two ways, either I'd hate myself for it or I would feel triumphant and my bloodlust would rise up. Instead I felt exactly the same as I had moments before. Does that make me a bad person? I honestly don't know. But it would be far worse to pretend something.'

While Hermione felt reassured by Lucius' confession, she wasn't entirely convinced.

'I don't know who I am any more.' She said in a small voice, trying to fight back tears. 'I'm not who I thought I was, who I planned to be.'

Lucius sighed and ran a hand through his hair. 'We can't always be the people we want to be, particularly in times like these. You've done better at staying true to yourself than most. But people change. Wars change you in ways you could never imagine. What matters is surviving.'

'Spoken like a true Slytherin.' She tried to smile.

Lucius hesitated, his hand reached out as though he might squeeze her shoulder in reassurance, but at the last moment he rose from the bed and opened the door.

'If you won't get out of bed for yourself. Get out for your children. Live for them. Survive for them.'


	15. Holy God, is there no mercy?

They moved court just before the snow came. Hermione loved looking at it from her bedroom window. It was so pure. Everything else in this court was gaudier than ever before. People struggled to walk under the weight of all their finery, the decorations were blinding and the whole thing oozed excess.

It made Hermione think about how Christmas used to be. She hadn't let herself think of that in quite a while. In truth, she'd lost track of the days, but here everyone was excited for it. She'd been allowed to pilfer some scraps of fabric that she'd lovingly turned into a Nativity set for her daughters. As a child, Hermione had played with something very similar. She'd also sewn 2 large stockings embroidered with roses and ivy. Hidden amongst the shrubbery she'd also stitched a miniature lion. It gave her a small thrill to know that she was being rebellious.

When the court moved, Voldemort had not accompanied them - instead seeing to business elsewhere. She didn't like to think about what it entailed. Hermione prayed that news of her good behaviour would get back to him and she'd be allowed to spend Christmas with her daughters.

So far she'd been spending the festivities in the company of Pansy, Melinda and Delilah. Conceited selfish girls who enjoyed tormenting anyone who they thought lesser to them. Once upon a time that had been Hermione, but now they cosied up to her and proclaimed themselves her best friends. She didn't dare think about her real best friends.

Today the talk was of marriage. As pureblood tradition, each of the unmarried girls of noble families would be paraded out in front of various suitors. If the men liked them they'd marry them that same day. The girls never had any say in the matter. It was sickening.

The other women didn't see it that way though. Although Pansy was married to the decrepit Yaxley, she was enjoying his money and Melinda had managed to find genuine love and affection with her husband.

"Jon Slughorn is looking to marry one of the Carrow girls.' Pansy gossiped. "To make up for the blood traitors in his family I suppose, he's bound to be humiliated!"

"He should be so lucky.' Delilah smirked. "No family will want him marrying their daughters. He's a crippled old fool from a pauper family. He'll be lucky to get a half blood."

The girls cackled while Hermione stared ahead stonily. Jon was a pompous idiot but he didn't deserve this.

"That little slut, Lucinda Rosier is going to have quite a time of it" Melinda sniggered. "Her parents will be so surprised when no one wants her."

"Everyone's already had her!"

The girls were in stitches but stopped abruptly when Hermione stood up.

"I'm tired." She lied. "I'm going to lie down." When they started to get up she held out a hand to stop them. "No, please. Enjoy yourself. I can find my own way. I'm old enough to sort myself out for a nap."

Pansy slyly eyed Hermione's belly. "Why do you suppose you're so tired?"

Because I've been listen to you witter on all morning.

Instead she forced herself to smile. "Who knows? Excuse me"

Eyes followed her as she walked. The rules had significantly relaxed since Voldemort had left. She still couldn't leave, but she could roam as free as she liked. She liked spending time in the healing wards, assisting the Healers in any way she could. At first her presence there had made them uncomfortable, but they soon realised she had a gift for it.

Hermione was still a corridor away when she heard sobs of anguish. Someone must have died? They sounded like the tears of a child.

Hermione hurried her pace and got to the wards, ignoring the stares. The source of the crying wasn't a child, but she wasn't far from it either. Hermione recognized her as one of the daughters to a pureblood - she had the Rosier eyes.

They looked at her now, pleading. Instinctively, Hermione held her hand.

The girl had bandages hastily tied around her torso, blood and pus seeping through. She was pale from the loss of blood and there were remnants of sick around her mouth. Hermione wiped it away with a cloth.

'What's your name?' She said softly.

The girl swallowed nervously. 'You're the one aren't you? You're her.'

Hermione suddenly understood how Harry had felt. 'Yes. I'm me. I'm Hermione.'

'It's an honor to meet you.' Her blue eyes widened. 'I wanted to serve you one day.'

'Maybe you still will.'

It was meant to be reassuring but the girl burst into tears again.

'Hey, hey' Hermione soothed, 'it's ok. What's your name?'

'Cearo Rosier.' She sniffed. 'I'm the younger sister. I'm 14.'

'What happened?'

Cearo stiffened and dropped her gaze. Hermione was used to people trying to hide information from her, but it would be easy to work it out of a vulnerable 14 year old girl. Instinctively she knew it involved him.

'Cearo,' she spoke more firmly this time, 'tell me. Please, tell me so I can help you.'

The young girl hesitated, she hung her head. 'I want my mum.' It was scarcely more than a whisper.

'I'll get her.' Hermione said encouragingly, a hand on her shoulder. 'Where is she?'

'She's dead.'

It startled her. Hermione didn't know what to say. 'Oh.'

'They killed her. They came in the night with stolen wands and killed her.'

'Who?' Though she dreaded the answer.

'The rebels. The ones who fight underneath a lightning banner. My father calls them Potter's remains.'

In all her years of captivity this was the closest Hermione had come to finding out more about the rebels. A lightning banner. Rebels fighting in Harry's memory. But the warm glow that had enveloped her quickly vanished when she remembered that these people had murdered this young girl's mother.

'Why did they kill her?' Inwardly she cringed at herself. 'I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to…'

'…It's alright. It's nice to talk about her again. Father won't let me. He blames himself. He was away you see, it was just me, my sisters and mum. We were all in bed. Rosetta woke up; she said she heard the gate move. She ran to mum and woke her up. Mum told us all to wait in her room while she went to investigate. She closed the door and they ran into the room. I heard them screaming. I've never heard such things. They said they wanted to ruin us. They told mum to open the door. She refused. They shot a few spells at her to frighten her but it didn't work. We tried to open the door but she must have put a charm on it. We heard another man step forward and threaten her. She still refused to open the door. He shot a spell at her and she was dead.'

'The killing curse?'

'No.' Cearo furiously blinked back tears. 'I didn't recognize it. I don't think mum did either or else she would have got out of the way. The others all started screaming at him. They panicked over what he'd done. Most of them ran. The others, there were about 3 of them got through the door. They pointed their wands ready to hex us, but it backfired on them. I don't know how. It scared them and they also ran off. We had to wait for Father to get home before we could do anything else.' She looked at Hermione, her teary eyes wide. 'Why didn't the curse hit us?'

'It's been done before.' Hermione gave a sad smile. 'She died to save you. It protected you.'

Cearo smiled. 'I hoped it would be something like that. So she didn't die in vain.'

The pus weeping through the bandages was getting out of hand. The wound desperately needed cleaning. Hermione quickly fetched some materials and set to work. Hermione had a strong stomach but peeling back the bandages nearly made her retch. She'd never seen anything like it. The cut was far deeper than she imagined and flesh had been hastily stitched up as if something had gone digging through it. If she didn't act quickly Cearo could die. She was lucky to have lasted so long as it was.

'This is going to hurt.' Hermione warned as she unscrewed the lid to a potion vial. 'The bay doesn't have any anesthetic, so we're going to have to do things the hard way. Hold onto my hand and squeeze as tight as you can, okay?'

White-faced but determined Cearo nodded.

As gently as she could Hermione began to clean the wound with her right hand while Cearo clutched her left hand as if she was drowning. Tears flowed down her cheeks but she never once whimpered.

It took a long time to do and by the time Hermione was done, both girls were exhausted.

'Well done.' Hermione smiled. 'You were very brave.' Stroking the girl's hair, she gathered the cloths together and went to dispose of them.

'He took out my womb.'

Hermione stopped in her tracks. _What?_ She turned back to Cearo who was nervously chewing her bottom lip.

'No one else will come in, will they?'

Hermione went to her side and held her hands. 'Of course not. I'll send them away. Cearo, who took it?'

'You know who'

She did. It sickened her. It appalled her. But it didn't surprise her.

'Why?'

Cearo squirmed. 'Father he, well he was falling out of favour. He didn't know what to do. But then he had an idea. He saw you and didn't understand why the Dark Lord cares for you so. I'm sorry, my lady, but he does not approve of you. He finds it an insult to the old pureblood houses. Anyway, he knew that the Dark Lord needed a son. He knew that you had failed. So he suggested me.'

Hermione felt sick. She was a child.

'I'd just started my bleeding. He said that meant that I was at my most fertile. He cancelled my engagement and took me to the Dark Lord instead. The Dark Lord said I pleased him well enough and bid my father to leave. When we were alone he had me drink lots of wine that made me sleepy. He told me to lie down.

But when he was done he became very angry. He dragged me round by my hair screaming at me. He spat at me and called me useless. I was very frightened and begged him to stop but it was as if he was in another world. He wouldn't calm down. But suddenly, just as I'd give up hope, he stopped. He lay me on the floor again and straddled me. He told me that I could never have his son. Nobody but you could ever have his son. My blood was not worthy enough, only yours. He said that if we'd just made a baby he would kill it. That's when he cut it out.'


	16. Save your breath, save your tears

Hermione paced in her tower seething with rage. Normally she was filled with dread when it was announced he was returning; now she was filled with fire and ready for a fight.

It had been 3 months since she had seen her daughters. The pain of being without them was agonising. Rose would be seven soon. She felt she had missed out on so much already.

Then of course there was Cearo. Hermione had done her best with the limited potions available but the wound still continued to fester. The girl was forever taking sleeping draughts so that she didn't have to cope with the pain. She needed urgent medical attention.

Narcissa had pleaded with Hermione not to cause a scene. Tears streaming down her face she had begged Hermione to be quiet and still, but Hermione had spent too long quiet and still. She was itching for a fight.

He seemed to know it too. Although he arrived on the Friday he kept her secluded in the tower and didn't visit. Finally on Sunday she was allowed out of her rooms.

Voldemort didn't seem at all surprised when Hermione burst through the door, two Death Eaters bringing up the rear and apologising profusely for failing to keep her away. He sat in his usual chair wearing his usual smug expression.

'My dear, I've never known you to rush to me before.' The Death Eaters chuckled. 'Missed me?'

Hermione rounded on the Death Eaters. 'Get out.' She snarled.

For once they didn't have to be told twice. Now the parents were left alone.

Hermione took a deep breath ready to compose herself. Her anger needed to be weapon not a hindrance.

'Anything wrong, my dear?' He cocked his head and feigned a quizzical expression. 'Are you well?'

'I know about Cearo.' She began bluntly. 'I've been treating her.'

The mocking façade was replaced by a storm on anger. 'What?' He hissed.

Years ago Hermione would have been terrified by his reaction, but this time she pressed on boldly. 'I found her in one of the healing bays. I worked out what you did, why you did it.'

He scoffed angrily. 'Prove it was me.' He said childishly.

'You've done the same to me.' Hermione snarled. 'I've lived years under your abuse, I know the signs. I only had to look at her to know. Your magic saved my life,' it left a bitter taste in her mouth, 'now use it to save her.'

To her surprise his lips curved into a smile. 'Save her yourself.'

'I can't.' She was bewildered. 'You won't let me do magic, the potions I am allowed to access are limited.'

'You healed Bellatrix.'

'I calmed her down.' Hermione cried exasperated. 'True healing powers died out centuries ago!'

'Yes, they did.' He confirmed infuriatingly. 'But they came back with you.'

When he didn't offer any more information she changed tactics. 'Please,' Hermione said softly, 'help her. Save her life. Let me see my children again.'

He looked pleased. 'There are many different kinds of bravery, Miss Tribusanguis. I'm glad you are learning more about them. I will think on it.' He raised a hand, ready to dismiss her.

'Please.' Hermione swallowed. 'Please, my lord.'

Voldemort's face transformed. It was radiant. There was a flash of the old Riddle in him. He was exuberant. 'If I allow you to see our children and heal the girl, what will you do for me?'

'I will come to you tonight willingly.' She clenched her jaw, trying to stay strong. 'I won't fight you. I will do your bidding.' She hesitated. 'Whatever it is.'

There was a long silence while he left her in suspense. Hermione stood as still as she could, determined not to show any weakness.

'If you come to me tonight,' he began 'I will let you see our daughters. If once seeing them you change your mind, I will kill the girl.'

Hermione didn't even hesitate.


	17. Honest work, just reward

It was bliss to be reunited with her daughters again. Hermione wondered if it was the happiest she'd been in years. Rose was still being schooled in magic, but it seemed that Voldemort had actually heeded Hermione's advice and was only instructing her in simple spells. Rose would chat away happily as she sent objects flying round the room, delighted with her mother's praise. Hermione had worried that Ivy wouldn't react too well to her after being parted, but Ivy was such an easy baby and loved to be cuddled and fussed over. Together, Hermione and Rose would lay Ivy between them and take turns in tickling her podgy little feet while Ivy chuckled in delight.

She'd been so entranced in children she hadn't given much thought to Cearo. Did this mean that she trusted him? Did she actually trust him to mend her? He'd kept his word and given her daughters back to her, but only because there was something to gain from it.

Hermione went to his bed every night. She forced herself to kiss him. She fought the urge to scream and smack him. She laid back and prayed for a son. If she had a son he would leave her and the girls alone. She could regain some of her old life and be left in peace.

But what did that mean for her son? He wouldn't be left in peace. Voldemort had said that he had plans for him; years ago he hinted at immortality but now he seemed focus on something else.

Would Hermione scream and cry and fight for her son as she was forced to hand him over? Definitely. So why was she praying for one? Surely it would best that she never had a boy at all so that he wouldn't have to suffer? But then her girls would suffer.

When Voldemort rolled off of her he put an arm round her shoulders. She gritted her teeth and nestled up to him.

'You're happy to see the girls again?'

'Yes, my Lord.' It had been a condition. It stuck at the back of her throat.

'I can tell. You seem brighter. The girls too. Rose is progressing a lot better in her studies.'

Hermione glanced up at him. He was grinning.

'She'll go far.' He continued. 'She's very talented. Keen to learn and quick about it too. Her teachers say they don't need to ask her to practice; she does it of her own accord. I had the Russian Ambassador meet her yesterday; he says he's never seen a brighter child. I hope Ivy will take after her. She's just as pretty, everyone coos over her. I've seen some of my best Death Eaters pull silly faces just to see her life. She's enchanting.' He smiled at Hermione. 'Just like her mother.'

Hermione felt a twisted knot inside her stomach. This wasn't fair. He spoke with such affection as if they were a real family and he was a real father proud of his children. But they weren't a real family. He'd denied her that right the day he took her from the Battle of Hogwarts.

She'd kept quiet but he could still read her mind. 'Don't spoil things, Hermione.' He said, with a surprisingly soft voice. 'I want to appreciate my family. Is that so wrong? I grew up without one. I want to see what it's like.'

'This isn't what it's like!' Hermione burst out, tears welling in her eyes. Years of suppressed emotion surged through her. 'We are not a real family! I am bound to you as a prisoner. You have children because you raped me. You care for no one but yourself. You may be proud of my girls, yes, but that's only because you want to see what they can do for you. You haven't made a family. You destroy families. That's all you ever do! That's all your capable of! Even the Malfoy's – your dearest servants and you murdered their son. You just break things, Tom.'

A poisoned silence hung in the air between them. When he shifted away from her she did her best not to flinch. She was sure he was going to hit her, but instead he sat up in bed and turned away from her, hands clasped as if in prayer.

'Why did you have to spoil that?' He said quietly. 'I know this is not the life you would have chosen for yourself, but you have no idea of the power you are dealing with. You do not understand the importance of us being together. The prophecy. Your blood. Together we are magical greatness,'

'I'm a muggle-born', Hermione could feel the tears rolling down her cheeks, 'and your father was a muggle too. You have destroyed families with far more magical blood than us.' She cut off suddenly. 'Prophecy? What prophecy?'

He didn't answer, but she saw him tense. 'What prophecy?'

'Go to sleep.' He snapped. 'I have some business to attend to.'

'What prophecy?' Hermione demanded, stronger this time. 'I was in the Department of Mysteries. I would have seen a prophecy with my name on.'

He turned to her with a sardonic smile. 'Not if my followers had already picked it up?'

'How could they if it was about me?' Hermione challenged him. 'Only the person who the prophecy was made about can pick it up.'

'Thankfully it wasn't made about you. Your ancestors were incredibly thorough. It was made about me. It was easy enough to break in once my Death Eaters had dismantled the defences. I collected the prophecy of which we speak now easily enough, as well as a few others, however when I came to the last one I needed it was not meant for me.'

'Harry's.' She whispered. Her friend's name hung ghostlike in the air.

'Potter's.' Voldemort confirmed. 'Prophecies are old magic. Darker magic than you and your noble little friends like to think. Far darker. There are ways to collect them yourself, but they have untold yet devastating consequences. It was far easier to devise a little scene that would evoke Potter's sense of heroic duty to get him to come to the Ministry.'

'A man died that day.' Hermione said through gritted teeth, clenching her fists. 'Sirius Black. An honest man never got the chance to live free.'

'Some of my Death Eaters died that day.' Voldemort spat angrily. 'Death is what happens in war.'

'Why didn't you stay then? Why didn't you wait for Harry? Were you too scared?' She taunted him, suddenly filled with an incontrollable glee. 'Where you scared of a fifteen year old boy?'

Voldemort smacked her hard across the face. She wasn't surprised.

'I thought that Bellatrix was up to the task.' He was breathing heavily, his gaze cold. 'And I thought that Lucius would be able to keep her in line. They failed me. Dolohov's curse could have killed you.'

Hermione wasn't surprised. Even now after all these years she could still remember the sharp shooting pains that she had to keep at bay with potion after potion.

Voldemort continued to look haunted. He turned away from her again. 'There is no one I can trust.'

Hermione hesitated. 'No one else you'd tell about the prophecy?'

She saw him stiffen. 'If you ask me any more about this, I can promise you, Miss Granger, that your life will not be worth living.'


	18. That's the way to please the Lord

**FINALLY got round to coming back to this story! Sorry for the delay! Keep the reviews coming (: they keep me motivated (: xx**

Narcissa held back Hermione's hair as she heaved into the pot. It was still the early hours of the morning and neither woman was properly awake yet. Normally, Narcissa would sleep with Lucius, but due to Hermione's sickness she'd been allowed an attendant.

'They say sickness is sign of a boy' Narcissa said optimistically. 'And craving savoury things. With Draco…' she tailed off.

Thankfully Hermione managed to interrupt the awkward silence by being sick again.

'I still don't understand how there isn't a magical alternative to seeing what sex the baby is before it's born.'

'What do you mean?' Narcissa looked startled.

'In the muggle world we have ultrasounds where you can see a picture of the baby – not a clear image, it's in black and white, and the doctors can tell you.'

To Hermione's surprise, Narcissa looked sickened. 'That's terrible. Cruel.'

'Why?' Hermione demanded. 'It doesn't hurt the baby.'

That didn't seem to comfort Narcissa. She looked at Hermione cautiously. 'Do you know why there are so few witches and wizards compared to muggles?'

'It was my understanding it was too much inter-breeding?'

'That was a factor' she admitted, 'but have you heard of the crisis in the 12th century?'

Hermione shook her head.

'I didn't think you would. Wizards like to brush it under the carpet. It began with the alchemist Fides Impetu. He created a stone that would allow you to see the sex of the baby before it was born. Women in those days were treated terribly,' she hurried on quickly when Hermione opened her mouth, 'far worse than today. Wizards wanted sons, not daughters. If the stone revealed it was a girl, the wizards would have the baby destroyed. This went on for fifty years before the wizarding population realised men outnumbered women 100 to 1. Thousands of great families died out and the wizarding world has never managed to get back to the numbers it once was. Fides Impetu went on the run for ten years. When he was caught and brought before judges, they decreed that he would be torn apart by a pack of wild dragons. The stone was destroyed with him.'

'Thank God Voldemort's never gone looking for it.' Hermione shuddered.

'Praise be' Narcissa murmured. Carefully, she helped Hermione to her feet and back into bed. Hermione collapsed onto the pillows, suddenly grateful for their comfort.

'When's your due date?'

'I'm not sure.' Hermione yawned. 'I'm only a few weeks.'

'Does he know?'

'I've not told him.' Hermione scowled. 'But with my last two he's had a way of finding out before me.'

'He watches your every move.' Narcissa warned. 'This time he wants a boy.'

Sure enough, there was no need to tell Voldemort. He already knew. What's more, so did the rest of the court. She complained that it was too early to tell anyone, anything could happen in the meantime, but was met with the frosty retort that she would have the best possible care.

A celebration was thrown for the pair. Hermione was placed by his side for the entire evening. Hundreds of courtiers came forwards with potions they insisted could guarantee a son, countless seers promised a boy and half a dozen parents offered Hermione their own tips, each more ludicrous than the rest. Yet, despite the festivities (getting more and more elaborate through the night) Hermione could sense the unease and fear in everyone there. Smiles were too fixed. Eyes too bright; not that anyone was meeting her eye.

'I'm confident for a son this time.' Voldemort announced happily, taking Hermione's hand in a vice like grip. He looked at her, his smile not quite masking the menacing look in his eye. 'Promise me.'

'I can't promise.' Hermione said through gritted teeth, determined not to wince at his grip. 'It doesn't work like that.'

Voldemort pulled her hand to his mouth and gently kissed it, pulling her towards him some more he whispered. 'Give me a son and I'll heal Cearo. Fail me and I will kill her.'


	19. She needs a doctor

**Thank you for all the reviews so far! Keep them coming! If you'd like me to do a review on one of your stories, let me know which one as you write a review! If you're ever confused about anything as well, do let me know! I have it all planned out but whether or not it comes out as it should is a mystery to me! **

**She needs a Doctor**

Hermione gently held onto Cearo's hands while the girl whimpered in pain. Voldemort was at her side, pressing his wand onto the wound onto her abdomen, frowning in concentration as he muttered the curses.

He'd warned Hermione before they went in there that this was dark magic. He'd taunted her that Dumbledore would not have approved. It was cheating death. Hermione had ignored him. Her conscience could not allow a fourteen year old girl to die from this.

Cearo's blue eyes were fixed on him, full of fear. He'd been the monster who'd left her in this state and now he was to be her saviour. She didn't know that it was the child growing in Hermione's womb that had allowed this to happen.

Voldemort was so certain for a boy that he agreed to heal Cearo immediately. Hermione dreaded any other outcome.

'Ut resurgat.' Voldemort murmured. 'Effundatuis in cute. Renatus fuerit ex maledicta. Vident in tenebris.'

Cearo squirmed. Was it working? Beads of sweat trickled down the young girls forehead as she gripped her hands even tighter. The wound itself seemed to be shrinking. The pus oozed away while the blood sucked itself back in. He continued his chants for another two hours. Finally he turned to Hermione, similarly exhausted. 'It is a flesh wound now. You can deal with the rest.'

Cearo was asleep now; colour flooding back to her cheeks. Hermione felt relieved. She bashed any guilty thoughts of dark magic away. There had been no need for this young girl to die. She had her whole life ahead of her.

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Neither of her daughters could sleep.

'We've had the best day ever!' Rose kept on exclaiming. 'How could we possibly sleep?' She jumped up and down on her bed, her crimson curls bouncing too.

Ivy babbled way with delight as well, trying to pull herself up onto the bed. Hermione laughed and picked her up out of harm's way.

While Rose had fiery colouring, Ivy was a lot closer in looks to Hermione. Her temperament was gentler than her older sisters too. Neither of her girls looked or acted like Voldemort. She could only hope that this next one wouldn't break that mould. Tom Riddle had been handsome in his youth, but Hermione knew that she would struggle.

They'd been allowed outside in the castle grounds today. With a ball Rose had played merrily with a load of the guards while Ivy crawled around the grass exploring. Hermione had been apprehensive at first when the guards had come over to play but they'd been brilliant with her girls. She studied their faces carefully, looking for anyone she may know, but had been unsuccessful. Guards were predominantly third and fourth sons of great families, unlikely to inherit much and therefore having to make their own way in the world.

Up in one of the towers she'd seen Bellatrix Lestrange watching the scene out of her window. Since the outburst, Bellatrix had been confined to her rooms. Rodopholus was mortified at her conduct and refused to let her out and Voldemort had allowed it. The two women caught each other's eye and gave a wary smile.

'Bellatrix has her own reasons for hating muggles and muggleborns.' Narcissa had said once. 'If you knew them, I think even you would understand.'

The way Bellatrix looked with such longing at Hermione's children made her wonder if Bellatrix had ever been a mother. Had she ever wanted to be? Did she suffer from the same fate as Cearo? Hermione couldn't picture Bellatrix as a mother, it was too twisted, but maybe a child would have paved a different path for her. There was no doubt in her mind that Bellatrix and Voldemort had slept together. Had he known of this supposed prophecy then? Could the pair of them had a future together had it not been for this prophecy? She doubted she would ever find out.

'Tell me a story.' Rose interrupted her train of thought. 'Please, Mummy. You tell great stories!'

Hermione had been delighting Rose with muggle fairytales of her own childhood, they baffled Narcissa and worried Lucius into warning her that she ought not to be filling her head with muggle nonsense, but Hermione liked it. These fairytales were a way of reminding her girls of their muggle background. She would not have them turn out like Voldemort.

Rose cosied up against her mother. 'Please, Mummy. Tell me a true story.'

'A true story?' _That was random_.

'Yes. A true story. Father says that it's always important to tell the truth.'

_Does he now? Well I'll give him a story. _

'Years ago,' Hermione began, 'long before you two were born there was a baby. He had jet black hair and emerald green eyes. His name was Harry Potter.'

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Carefully, Hermione closed the nursery door; she'd left her daughters sleeping. Ivy had fussed a bit and needed another feed but she'd gone down only a little while after Rose.

Now that her girls were asleep it was time to check up on Cearo. The young girl was all but healed. She would never have a womb again, never be able to bear a child, but she would live.

Some courtiers gaped at her as she made her way from the nursery to the healing bay. She did her best to ignore them. People were not used to her walking freely; it was only Voldemort's whim that allowed her to do so. Tomorrow she might be confined to her rooms again like before.

The beds in the healing bay were nearly all full. She guessed from the Death Eaters attire that they'd been on a raid. Quite a few looked seriously wounded. She hoped the other side had come off better.

Hermione wandered up and down the bay a few times looking out for Cearo, but no familiar faces jumped out at her. Maybe she'd been sent to recover at home? She reached out for a passing Healer.

'I'm looking for Cearo Rosier?' Hermione smiled. 'Has she recovered?'

The Healer looked at her aghast. 'I'm sorry.' He muttered. 'I'm very busy,' and dashed off.

She could feel eyes on her. What was going on? She turned to one of the Healer's assistants. They called them The Silence. Dressed only in white, The Silence were people who had once faced death but at Voldemort's mercy had been allowed a second chance. They'd had their tongues cut out and forced into servitude instead. This woman was a new one Hermione did not recognise.

'Has Cearo gone home?'

Discreetly, The Silence shook her head.

'Has she recovered?'

Another shake of the head.

'Is she safe?'

Nothing. Not even her eyes gave anything away.

'Is she here?'

Again, nothing. Hermione was growing desperate.

'Is she alive?'

There was a long pause and then The Silence shook her head.

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'You bastard!' Hermione could barely contain her tears. 'How could you? You promised me you would heal her!'

Voldemort looked bemused. The Death Eaters by his side looked worried. He waved them away with an airy confidence. 'Leave. Miss Granger cannot do me any harm in here.'

'Want to bet?' Hermione snarled.

Voldemort chuckled. 'My dear, I am infinitely more powerful than you will ever be.'

She waited for the last of the Death Eaters to leave. She'd come straight from the healing bay and burst into the room, disrupting whatever meeting he'd been having. Not that he'd seemed to mind.

'Are we talking about the girl?' He said mildly. 'I have healed her. You saw me do it. I am sure the girl will live a long and prosperous life.'

'She's dead!' Hermione lashed out. 'You killed her!'  
Voldemort looked confused. 'I have not.'

'Who else would it be?'

He shrugged carelessly. 'Another. If you care that much I can have them killed for her murder.'

'Two wrongs never make a right.'

That made him smirk. 'How noble you are. How foolishly Gryffindor you are.'

'At least I know what is right.'

Voldemort shifted in his chair. 'I give you my word that I have not killed Cearo. Perhaps you are right. Perhaps she is dead. But it was not at my hand, nor my orders. I suggest you leave now.'

'But'

'Leave.'

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Narcissa chewed her lip anxiously when Hermione told her the news.

'I know.' She admitted. 'I know who did it too.'

The two women were in Hermione's bedroom. She'd been confined there for the rest of the evening thanks to her outburst.

'Who?' Hermione was alarmed. 'Why? She was recovering!'

Narcissa hesitated. Cautiously she sat down beside her on the bed. 'You have to understand that pureblood culture is very different from what you are used to. You cannot change thousands of years of thinking in one night.'

'Who was it?'

'Her father.' Narcissa said softly. 'He came last night and smothered her with a pillow. 'He made sure she felt no pain. Just like falling asleep.'

Hermione began to cry. 'Why would he do this?'

'It was the kindest thing to do.' Narcissa said gently. 'I know you will find that hard to believe. Cearo was barren. No pureblood wizard would marry a barren girl. She would not be allowed to marry beneath her station either. Her only option was to be a plaything of the court. A woman without a womb in pureblood society is worthless.'

'It's barbaric.'

'I never said it wasn't. But it's the way it is. Believe me; I understand how this could have gone on. I started my courses later my sisters; the men all thought that I was barren. I'd been betrothed to Lucius since I was a small child and it was his insistence that my family wait a few more years to see if I was fertile that saved me. If he hadn't intervened I would have been disowned and thrown to the wolves.'

'But Bellatrix is childless.' Hermione protested. 'She married well enough!'

Narcissa looked at her sadly. 'She wasn't always.'


	20. Can this be?

**2 chapters? In such a short space of time? I must be spoiling you...Thank you for all the follows and favourites! **

**Can this be?**

Hermione watched as Narcissa lit a candle and prayed. It was the anniversary of Draco Malfoy's death. He'd led hundreds of rebels to the Manor with the plan of defeating Voldemort once and for all. Before he'd died at the hands of Voldemort he had hinted to Hermione that Harry was still alive. He'd been wrong.

Lucius stood beside his wife, his lips pressed tightly together as if to stop himself from screaming. Occasionally he would turn away and face the wall to wipe away a tear. Narcissa wore her tears proudly.

Hermione remembered how he'd taken the nightmares Voldemort had been putting in her head and instead put them in his own so that she could sleep. She hoped that he'd died knowing how much that meant to her.

This service was being kept a secret from Voldemort. It was done in the dead of night. It had been difficult to organise however. Security had increased since relations with France had crumbled. Tomorrow, Lucius would leave for France and hope to negotiate a deal that would leave him alive.

New recruits had joined today to help protect Voldemort. They included Cormac McLaggen, the Gryffindor pretty boy who Hermione had once used to get back at Ron. She hated the way he looked at her now. The most grievous insult had been seeing Ernie MacMillan kitted out in his new uniform, looking just as smug as ever. It felt like a kick in the face compared to Dumbledore's Army. She knew Ernie had been ambitious, but she'd never expected him to sacrifice his principles for power. Then again, these last few years had proven that she'd been wrong about so many things.

Rose had been excited by the ceremony. Ivy was too little to attend, but Rose had been given a new dress of the deepest emerald satin for her to watch the spectacle. In scarlet beside her, her mother had been more uneasy. Some of these new recruits were little more than children. They would almost certainly die if they were propelled into battle. She couldn't imagine being their mothers.

Narcissa had finished her prayer now and asked to be left in peace. Lucius walked Hermione back to her rooms. She was shocked to see the change in him. He'd aged twenty years or so in the last few months. Gone was the confident swagger, he now moved around like a ghost. He barely looked capable to stand on his own two feet.

'Are you afraid?' She asked.

He gave a small smirk. 'Gryffindors always trouble themselves with such questions. There is more to life than fear or courage.'

'But are you?'

'I fear of losing my wife. She is the only thing that can be used against me. That's why I need these negotiations to go well.'

'Who else is on his side?'

'Russia, Portugal, Spain, Albania, Turkey – most countries do not like to get involved with Wizarding Wars. It was the same for the last one. Kenya has been expressing an interest, but I have told the Dark Lord to be wary. Their magic is powerful and not something that we have any understanding of. It could be used as a weapon for us which is what he hopes, but they could also turn it against us at any time. Should any of our alliances ever overpower us here in Britain, you will need to take your girls and run.'

Hermione was startled. 'But Voldemort would be gone. He wouldn't be able to hurt us anymore.'

'But these countries could. They have heard rumours of your blood. It seems that no one but the Dark Lord knows what it is that makes you special, but they'll want to find out. The Dark Lord is your captor, but also your biggest protector, remember that.'

He'd called her to his rooms. Hermione prayed the whole way there that he hadn't found out about where she'd been the previous night. It was helping some parents mourn their son, it wasn't a crime.

When she entered the room, he smiled as if delighted to see her and slipped his arm round her waist, his hand gentle cupping her protruding belly. The baby within kicked furiously.

'So boisterous.' Voldemort laughed. 'So strong!'

'You wanted to see me?' She refused to be drawn into conversations like these.

'Yes,' he grinned slyly, 'I have a present for you. Come here, girl!'

Luna Lovegood stepped out from behind the curtain.

She was taller than Hermione remembered, skinnier too. Her blonde hair had gone white and wispy, growing all the way down to her thighs. Her once vacant eyes were now hardened and haunted, but there were tears in them as the girls ran to hug one another. Hermione heard Voldemort say that he would leave them to it, but she barely paid him any attention. This was a friend. This was a good connection to the past. Someone she knew was alive. She had a connection to the outside world.

'You're alive.' She breathed.

'Last time I checked.' Luna giggled. 'Oh, Hermione! I cannot believe that it is really you! Look how big you are!' Gently she placed a hand on the bump and gasped in delight when she was rewarded with some movement.

'Where have you been? Who else is alive? Where did everyone go? What's been happening outside?'

Luna held up a hand to steady her. 'Let me try and start at the beginning.'

'After the Battle of Hogwarts I managed to get back home to my father. He was very unwell. I tried to get him to leave, but there wasn't enough time. The borders closed. As thanks to my father for reporting you 3 when you came to our home, Voldemort allowed me to stay at home and nurse my father. We were forgotten about in time.

One night we received a knock at the door. A desperate rebel pleaded for our help and we gave it willingly. Her boyfriend had taken a terrible chest wound. We patched him up and I offered to see them home. Their home was a rebel camp! It was huge! I couldn't believe that it had remained undetected for so long! The main camp changes location so often it is hard even for the rebels to keep up. To find them all you have to do is say, 'Harry, I need help' and someone will come along. I learned that there are more of these camps dotted all over Britain. Many of these people split off to form their own communities, frustrated at the length of time it has taken for the main camp to do any real action. For the moment they are focusing on helping people to rebuild their lives. Many are sick, hundreds of children are orphaned. They cannot focus on anything but their people's wellbeing at the moment. To strike now would be foolish, they say. No one is prepared.

'Who are the leaders?' Hermione breathed.

'No one would tell me any names.' Luna admitted. 'There are only rumours. Their banner is a lightning bolt in honour of Harry. They say it is to remind Voldemort of the time his curse backfired. They call the orphanage Hedwig's. The programme for feeding the homeless is called Dobby.' She gave a shy smile. 'The hospital is named in memory of Ron.'

Hermione couldn't contain it in any longer. She began to cry.

Luna was to be her attendant. Voldemort had sent her father to be cared for elsewhere so that Hermione would have some additional company. He said that Narcissa was too old to be Hermione's sole companion; she needed someone her own age. As Luna slept in the bed beside her, her thoughts began to drift away again. Rebel camps. Plans to overthrow Voldemort. Helping people. It was where she needed to be. If you called out, 'Harry, I need help,' someone would come. Was this a sign that he was still alive? Was he out there too, biding his time? Did they stand a chance of winning? Her mind was made up. She would run away again.

**What do you guys think? Does running away again sound like a good idea? Who is in these rebel camps? Why is Hermione's blood so powerful? So many questions!**


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